


If There Is Beauty

by Thors_Drawers



Series: Rose Colored Redemption [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Light Angst, Love, Tags Are Hard, at least not for arthur, murder/suicide in ch.7, no TB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-04-24 04:49:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 25,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19166155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thors_Drawers/pseuds/Thors_Drawers
Summary: What if one of Dutch and Hosea's plans actually worked?They get the money and head west, right?  Then what?





	1. A Hint of Changing Days

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this comes from the poem If There Is Beauty by Louis L'Amour, which is posted in the notes at the bottom. The chapter titles are lines from other poems of his, which I will credit in the notes at the end of each chapter.
> 
> A Hint of Changing Days is from the poem Mutation

  Tess walked into the warm glow of the Bastille Saloon in San Denis, and immediatly began scouting her marks. The place was full of the usual - the San Denis uppercrust, and the folks who wanted you to think that's what they were. The sooner she could pick their pockets clean the sooner she could get out of this damn city.

  Looking over the crowd she headed towards the bar, and her first target. A tall, dark haired, (and, Tess had to admit,) rather good looking, man boasting about something or other and entertaining a small crowd at the end of the bar. She knew his type. Charismatic and proud, he wanted to be seen as a distinguished gentleman, and probably fooled most folks. Tess, however, saw through his pomp. Through the fancy waistcoat and watch, to the mud on his bootheels and the mended spot on his shirtsleeve.

  _Just another nobody pretendin' to be somebody._ she thought. Tess ordered her drink, relieved him of his watch, and started making her way through the crowd.

__________

  Dutch liked this place. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, the floors were covered in thick luxurious carpets, and the whole place just felt, well, _rich_. For all his bluster about freedom and getting back to the wild, in his heart of hearts this is what he wanted, what he _deserved_ ; the luxury, the ease, and the _god damn **respect**_ that comes with money.

  And tonight money was what he was after.

  He put on his act, entertaining those around him while scanning the crowd. He still had to decide which of these wealthy society ladies he would woo into his bed tonight, then liberate of her valuables before she woke in the morning.

  A likely target joined the crowd at the bar. Pretty, well dressed, no wedding ring and, Dutch noticed, giving _him_ quite the once over. Before he could finish the story he was regailing the crowd with, however, she had ordered her drink and was making her way across the room. Slightly disappointed, Dutch turned his attention to a group of young ladies at the other end of the bar.

  Several drinks and much flirting later,Dutch decided it was probably time to pick one of these gals to start wooing in earnest. He checked his... his watch... where in the HELL was his watch?!

  He couldn' t believe it. Someone had picked his pocket - _his_ pocket. Even through his anger he couldn't help but be impressed. He was _Dutch Van der Linde_ \- people didn't pick _his_ pocket. He began watching the crowd. The night was still fairly young and the thief was likely still here, working the room. Dutch smiled to himself. Oh, he _would_ be getting his watch back.

__________

  Tess decided to call it a night. She had a decent haul and was more than ready to get out of these fancy clothes, set up camp somewhere outside of town, and get the stink of the city blown off her. As she deposited the loot in Daisy's saddle bags, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning, she saw it was tall, dark, and pompous from inside.

  "Excuse me miss," he said "but I believe you have my watch."

  His eyes were blazing, and though his tone was light, Tess could hear the menace underneath. Maybe this wasn't a man to be trifled with, after all.

  She sighed. "Which one is it?" she asked, pulling four watches out of the saddlebag.

  "Well now, I can't be certain. I'd better just take them all."

  Tess rolled her eyes and handed them over.

  "Thank you." he said giving her a little bow. "Now, don't look so put out miss. I had to watch for at least an hour, I think" he held up his watch "to figure out it was you. I'm sure you did quite well tonight, even without these. It was really quite impressive."

  Tess noticed the menace had left his voice. "Well thanks, I suppose." she said. "I'm rather impressed myself, you're the first to ever catch me in the act, Mr...?"

  "Tacitus Kilgore, at your service" he replied removing his hat with a flourish.

  Tess couldn't supress a chuckle. "Oh, good to meet you, sir, and you can call me the Queen of Sheba. What's your business in town Mr _Kilgore_?"

  " I expect about the same as yours, _your majesty_."

  They grinned at each other.

  "So, who do you ride with, Queenie?"

  "No one at the moment..."

  Suddenly fom inside the bar they heard a man yell "Hey where's my watch!?!"

  "...and this might not be the best place for this conversation." she finished, mounting Daisy.

  "I've got a spot outside of town where I was going to camp tonight," Dutch offered "would you care to join me and finish the conversation there, Your Highness?"

  Tess sized him up. Now that they had settled the watch matter to his satisfaction, there was no malice or threat in his tone. And he really was quite handsome...

  "It's Tess," she said "and sure, let's go" She turned Daisy and followed him into the night.

____________________

  Tess woke with the dawn, warm and snug in Dutch's bedroll, the man himself snoring lightly beside her. She stretched and recalled the events of the previous evening. She and Dutch had sat up late, drinkling and talking, and genuinly enjoying each others company. She'd told him about the days when she used to ride with a gang, and how it'd fallen apart when the leader's luck ran out and he ate a bullet. She told him how much she missed it, how it was the closest thing she'd had to a family since she was very young.

  It was then that he'd finally come clean and told her who he was - Dutch Van der Linde, leader of the infamous Van der Linde Gang. He'd told her again how impressed he was with her skills and that if she missed being part of a gang they could certainly use a woman with her talents. He'd told her all about his grand plan, how someday they would make enough money to get away from all this "civilization" and "law". How they would go out West and live free and unhunted.

  It was while going on about the plan that the brandy had really begun to flow, and when Tess's memories became less clear. She just knew it began with lots of toasting - "To freedom!", "To the outlaw life!", "To family!" - and ended with her waking in his bed. The rest was a blur, but a pleasant one.

  Smiling to herself, she rose quietly, dressed, and left the tent. She put on some coffee and was feeding and brushing Daisy when Dutch, half dressed, climbed sleepily out of the tent.

  "Good morning, Miss Hannigan. I'm glad to see you're still here." he said, pulling on a shirt and pouring himself some coffee. He joined her by the horses.

  "Does that mean you've decided to take me up on my offer to join us?" he asked, feeding The Count an apple (and, Tess noticed, checking his saddlebags). She had risen before him after all.

  She smiled a sigh. "It may well be my doom, but yes, I suppose I will."

  With that, they set about the task of breaking down camp.

____________________

  The trip to Horseshoe Overlook, where the gang had made camp, was mostly uneventful. As they rode Dutch entertained Tess with stories from the gang's past. Tess loved the way he spoke of them not so much as a gang, but a community, a family. She was excited and anxious at the prospect and hoped they would accept her. He also filled her in on the situation with Molly. To Dutch's shock Tess wasn't upset, or even suprised. She'd always figured a guy like Dutch was likely to have a woman back at camp. They was just keeping warm on the trail, is all, and just how the'd done that was no one else's concern.

  They arrived at camp late that afternoon, and were greeted with a gruff "Hey! Who goes there?"

  "It's me, Arthur," Dutch replied "and a new friend. Come get introduced."

  The sight of Dutch riding into camp accompanied by a stranger was curious enough that by the time they'd hitched thier horses much of the gang had already gathered. As she dismounted and looked around around, Tess liked what she saw. These faces were hard, yes, but there was also kindness and a genuine caring in the way they looked at Dutch and at each other. There were exeptions, the redhead staring daggers at her (Tess assumed this was Molly) didn't seem too friendly, and she didn't care for the shifty look of the blonde fella in the back, but the rest seemed okay.

  "Friends!" Dutch called out "I'd like you all to meet a new associate of mine..."

  Suddenly a thick Irish brouge cut across Dutch's voice.

  "As I live and barely breathe! It's never little Tess Hannigan!"

  Tess turned toward the voice "Sean? Sean MacGuire?"

  "The very same!" Sean exclaimed, picking her up and spinning her around.

  Dutch couldn't help but notice the blush that crept up Tess's cheeks, or the _very_ familiar way in which they embraced. "So...you two, uh, know each other, do you?" 

  His tone was suddenly brisk and businesslike but Sean didn't seem to notice.

  "Oh yeah. We used to run in the same gang, years ago now, until poor Monty tasted lead and things sort of..." Sean shifted and glanced at Tess "...fell apart."

  "So, we can trust her, then?" asked the man who had been on gaurd duty (Tess thought his name was Arthur).

  "Indeed ya can, English. Probably more than ya trust me."

  Arthur grimmaced "Well...it ain't much, but I'll take it."


	2. The Star That Lent its Loveliness to You

  As spring began to give way to summer Tess found herself fitting in nicely. She had paid her dues, making regular contributions of watches, rings, and whatever else she skimmed at the local saloons to the camp fund. She held her own with work during the day, and with the occasional bottle in the evenings, managing to stay on the good side of both Karen and Susan (or Miss Grimshaw to those not currently in her good graces; which was usually most of the gang) - a feat the others had long thought impossible.

  This day dawned bright and clear. Tess rose early, hurried through her long list of chores, and by lunchtime had the day to herself. She wanted to get out of camp for a bit, maybe relax and work on a scarf she was knitting for Hosea.

  There was a small hill overlooking camp that had a beautiful view of the valley. It was far enough away to be peaceful, but close enough that she could keep an eye in case she was needed back. On top was a large oak tree and the shade it provided looked like it would be a great place for some time to herself. Tess crested the hill and was headed for a nice spot, when she was startled by a gruff voice from the base of the tree.

  "Miss Hannigan."

  She turned quickly "Oh!... Arthur! You gave me the fright of my life." She sat down across from him and pulled her knitting out of her basket."I didn't know you were back."

  "Yeah, Charles and me got back a couple hours ago." He gestured toward the pile of purple yarn she was untangling "What's that ya got there?" he asked.

  "Well," Tess replied, tugging on a particularly stubborn knot "eventually it will be a scarf. I think for Hosea." She looked up at him "I heard last winter was pretty tough."

  "Yeah," Arthur said quietly "yeah, it was."

  He shook the memory from his mind.

  "So, who in the world did you manage to pick pocket purple yarn from?" he asked with a smirk.

  "Actually, Mr Morgan" she retorted, putting on airs they both knew she didn't mean "I made it myself."

  "Oh, is that so Miss Hannigan?"

  "Well," Tess dropped her act "John got me the wool, and Sean carved me a little spindle. But otherwise, yes."

  Arthur's brow furrowed. "Wait. So you mean to tell me, you took that big bag of grey crap Marsten brought back from the sheep heist that wasn't, and turned it inta that?" he asked gesturing at the yarn in her basket "Which you are now turnin' inta that?" He pointed at the scarf slowly forming in her lap.

  "Well, yeah."

  "Will wonders never cease?" he mused with a small chuckle.

  "What about you, Arthur? Sketching?" She nodded to where his journal lay on the ground, a pencil keeping his place.

  "Yeah, or tryin' to." he said picking up the book "I been wantin' to draw the valley for a while now, but there's somethin' I just can't get quite right." To his own surprise he opened the journal to the drawing and held it out to her.

  Tess put down her knitting and looked at him. "Really?" she asked. As far as she knew Arthur had never let anyone look in his journal. It was a bit of a running joke around camp.

  "Really."

  She took the book and looked at the page he offered. Inside was a beautifully crafted sketch of the valley with the tents and wagons of camp in the foreground.

  "Oh, Arthur" she gasped looking up at him, his face was anxious and maybe a bit shy. "Its beautiful."

  Arthur rubbed the back of his neck akwardly, but broke into the most gunuine smile Tess had seen on him yet.

  As he sat and explained all the reasons why it really wasn't very good, Tess thought to herself, _Well, look at that Arthur Morgan. Maybe there's more to you than just 'tough guy' after all._

_______________________

  Arthur couldn't sleep.

  He tossed and turned, kicking his blankets off, then piling more on. He bunched up his pillow, then got rid of it all together. Nothing helped. He gave up and flopped onto his back, cursing under his breath. He knew his restlessness had nothing to do with being uncomfortable. Well, physically at least.

  _Jesus, Morgan, get hold a ya'self_ , he thought, growing more and more irritated _we ain't got time for this silly schoolboy crap_.

  There were Pinkertons and O'Driscolls and Leviticus Cornwall to worry about. And if he wasn't going to worry about them, he should be worried about planning the next job, or whether there was enough meat to go around. Or better yet, getting some damn sleep. He definitely shouldn't be lying here thinking about a pretty girl, like a thirteen year old with a crush.

  He handn't even noticed how pretty Tess was when she and Dutch had first come riding into camp. Like the others, he had been too concerned with whether she could be trusted and if she would be a valuable addition to the gang. That concern had soon been laid to rest, however. Miss Grimshaw had given her a tour of camp before supper, and when showed the donaton box Tess had immediately deposited her haul from the saloon the night before. It was probably twenty-five dollars worth of jewelry, and earned her a quick spot on Susan's good side.

  It wasn't until that night around the campfire, everyone drinking and getting to know their new arrival, that he'd really noticed just how pretty Tess was. Arthur (tired from a long day and well into a bottle of whiskey) had been sitting across from her writing in his journal by the firelight and half listening to the conversations around him and the quiet strum of Javier's guitar.

  "Oh, Javier!" Mary-Beth had called out "Play that one song, you know... the one about the creepy river lady!"

  Talk quieted as Javier began to play a bit louder and then began to sing, "Ay de mi, Llorona. Llorona de azul celeste...", and it stopped completely when Tess began to sing along in perfect Spanish. "Y anque la vida me cueste, Llorona..."

  Arthur looked up from his journal then, staring at Tess in surprise along with the rest of the gang, and really seeing her for the first time. Her long dark hair that had been pinned up when she arrived now hung loose around her shoulders, shining in the glow of the firelight. Her eyes were closed as she sang, and even from Arthur's spot across the fire he could see her long dark eyelashes contrasted against the pale skin of her cheek.

  Just as Arthur was wondering about the color of the eyes framed by those lashes, the song ended and Tess opened them, smiling. He had barely had time to register the beauty of that smile, and the dimple on just one side, when the crowd burst into applause.

  "Muy buena chica!" Javier exclaimed. Though he, like everyone else , looked rather confused. Well, everyone but Sean, who seemed thouroghly amused at the looks on thier faces.

  "Gracias amigo, tocas bueno guitarra." Tess replied, before looking around at the still silent faces staring at her.

  "Isn't Hannigan an Irish name?" Uncle had asked, rather bluntly, while Sean chortled from his seat.

  "Well, yes. My Da was Irish," (At the word 'Da' half the camp groaned and looked at Sean. Tess chuckled, knowing full well why, she'd heard all the stories years before.) "but Mama was Mexican..."

  Arthur watched her as she talked, taking in the way the firelight danced in her eyes, the color of which he still couldn't tell from here... her smile with that single dimple... the way she talked with her hands...

  A burst of laughter from the group suddenly jolted Arthur out of his thoughts. He realised that though she'd continued her story, he'd been so preoccupied watching Tess that he hadn't heard a word she'd said. He drained his bottle and, ignoring Sean's taunts about him being an old sourpuss, retired to his tent.

  After that night Arthur had managed to keep his mind off of Tess... mostly. While it was never uncommon for him to be away from camp for several days at a time, his time away had grown more frequent. When he was there it was easy to not cross her path too often, mostly just around the coffee or stew pot, and he'd kept his mind busy with more important things than pretty girls. Until this afternoon on the hill.

  And now, tonight, he couldn't sleep.

  _Her eyes are hazel_. He thought idly, recalling the memory before chiding himself again. _Just knock it off, dumbass, it's not like she'd want your ugly mug anyway_.

  But every time he tried closing his eyes, there she was, smiling up from that dumb little sketch of his like he'd painted the damn Mona Lisa.

  "Goddamitt." Arthur swung his legs off his cot and sat up, giving up on sleep for the time being.

  He pulled pants and boots over his unionsuit, lit a cigarette and walked out into the cool night air.

  Taking a drag and looking around the sleeping camp he saw that Hosea was up, sitting next to the scout campfire, and headed over to join him. Arthur hoped talking a while might help get his mind off of pretty girls and silly fantasies.

  "Hey there, old man. Can't sleep?"

  Hosea chuckled as Arthur sat down across the fire from him. "Once you're my age, sleep doesn't come as easily as it used too, I'm afraid." he replied, passing Arthur the bottle of whiskey he'd been working on and taking the cigarette the younger man offered.

  "What about you, Arthur?" he asked striking a match and lighting the cigarette. He tilted his head back, exhaling the smoke up into the sky before squinting back at Arthur. "Something on your mind, son? Or maybe _someone_?"

  "What? No. I...I don't know what...what you're talkin' about, Hosea." Arthur mumbled while rubbing the back of his neck and staring at the fire, pointedly not meeting Hosea's eyes.

  "I'm talking about a certain young lady you couldn't stop staring at all through supper, whenever you thought no one was looking at you." Hosea said, gesturing for his bottle back. Taking a swig he continued, "You're not as subtle as you might hope, my boy."

  Arthur knew there was no point in trying to deny it. Hosea had known him for over twenty years and could see through him better than anyone, even Dutch. He closed his eyes and cursed under his breath before responding.

  "Ok. Fine, you win." he grumbled, finally looking Hosea in the eye. "Yes. I think Tess is... she's.. dammit, I don't know what I think, and it don't matter, we got much bigger problems than pretty girls, I ain't got time for nonsense."

  "It's not nonsense, Arthur..."

  "Yes it is, Hosea. There's Pinkertons and O'Driscolls and..."

  "And" Hosea cut him off "that's all the more reason to hold on to what you can, when you can." He took a pull off the bottle before passing it back to Arthur and continuing.

  "This life we live, who knows how long any of us will last? We don't have the luxury of waiting. If I had waited for everything to be perfect I never would have married Bessie. And sure, being together in this life wasn't always easy, but I've never regretted it. Not for one second. My only regret would have been not taking the chance when I had it."

  Arthur shook his head with a sad smile. "You always were the romontic, Hosea. But even if you're right, and I ain't sure you are, what does it matter? Old, ugly, bastard like me? I ain't got nothin' to offer a lady like her."

  He finished his cigarette, throwing the butt in the fire before adding quietly "If ya don't believe _me_ just ask Mary."

  "Stop it." Hosea bit back, sternly. "Now you're the one talking nonsense, Arthur. Tess is nothing like Mary and you know it."

  "But..."

  "But nothing, Arthur. Don't forget, Tess has lived this life almost as long as you have, maybe she needs to hold on to what she can, too."

  "And you think that's me?" Arthur asked with a wry laugh. "Old 'Sourpuss Morgan'?"

  "Maybe, maybe not." Hosea replied before pointing across camp "But, it looks like you're not the only one who can't sleep tonight."

  Arthur turned to where Hosea was pointing and saw that the lamp was burning in Tess' tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the poem Banked Fires
> 
> And I know the lyrics for La Llorona aren't the traditional ones. I accidentally translated the ones from Coco before I realized they were different.


	3. I Wander Down Along the Oak-Clad Hills

   As the days grew longer and hotter Tess and Arthur took to spending more of their afternoons together under the oak. _After all_ , they would tell themselves, _it's hot. Better to finish work early and spend the hottest part of the day relaxing in the shade._ They just both happened to like the same spot, that's all. It's not as if they were _waiting_ for each other, or like they were _disappointed_ on the rare occasion the other didn't show.

  "I finally figured it out." Arthur announced one afternoon.

  He was lying on his side in the grass, propped up on one elbow, smoking a cigarette and watching Tess spin yarn, blue this time.

  "I finally figured it out, its sorcery. Dutch brought a scorceress back to our camp."

  Tess giggled and slapped him lightly on the arm, "You are a silly man Arthur Morgan."

  They smiled at each other, neither speaking.

  Tess felt the color start to rise in her cheeks; he did have an awfully nice smile. Arthur, meanwhile, was sure that single dimple was gonna be the death of him.

  A sudden disturbance down in camp pulled their attention away from each other.

  "Uh-oh" Arthur mused, grinding out his cigarette on the bottom of his boot and sitting up. "looks like Grimshaw's on the warpath again."

  Indeed she was, with Karen and Mary-Beth on the receiving end of it. The wind carried their voices up the hill.

  "A break?" yelled Grimshaw "A break from what? You need to earn a break! The two of you just sit in the shade all day!"

  "Well, I guess it's alright for _some_!" Karen retorted, gesturing up the hill to where Tess and Arthur sat in the grass.

  "Those two do more work around this camp in a day than the two of you do in a week! If they wanna sit up there being sweet on each other that is no concern of yours! Now get busy!" With that she ushered them off.

  Tess shifted her seat and focused on her knitting. Arthur was suddenly very interested in his own hands.

  After a short silence that felt like an eternity Tess asked quietly "Is that what we've been doing up here?" still looking at her lap.

  "Well" Arthur replied softly, as Tess finally met his eyes with hers, "It's what I been doin'..."

  Tess felt her color rise again as he leaned in close.

________________________

  Sean was never exactly an early riser. Often the last to bed, he was always the last to wake. Usually he didn't crack an eye before noon, and was barely coherent until two or three in the afternoon when he'd crack a bottle. Finally feeling truly awake, he'd flirt with Tess for a while (she was still playing hard to get, but she'd come around). Then he'd head out, either to scout for work or do a job, Dutch having given up putting Sean on any daytime jobs years ago.

  But last night a truly terrible thing had happened; at only eleven PM, the camp had run out of whiskey. Sean had gone to bed early, and sober. Without his hangover to keep him asleep he found himself up and awake much earlier than usual. He rode into town to by a case of whiskey for the camp (couldn't let _that_ happen again). When he returned he grabbed bottle for himself and joined the growing line for the fresh pot of stew Pearson had just put out. There was a lot of tittering from the crowd, which Sean attributed to the loud argument Karen and Grimshaw were having, until John elbowed him, grinning.

  " 'Bout damn time, aint it?" he said nodding toward the hill at the edge of camp.

  Sean looked up just in time to see the woman he loved wrap her arms around the neck of another man.

  _Well fuck_ he thought. Pulling the cork from the bottle in his hand he took a long drink, his eyes never leaving the sight of Arthur Morgan kissing Tess, _his_ Tess. _At least maybe now Dutch will make **Arthur** shovel the horse shit for a change._

______________________________

 

  The late summer sun beat down on the back of Arthur's neck. Damn it was hot. He set aside his pitchfork, wiping his brow with his bandana.

  "Horseshit detail _again_ ," he muttered to himself "you sure can be a petty bastard, Dutch."

  Arthur stretched his back and readied to get back to it. Two months of shoveling had him feeling his age ( _no_ , he thought, _make that **Hosea's** age_) but he had promised Abigail he would take Jack fishing today, and he didn't want to leave it too late.

  "Ah, Mr Morgan, Dutch said I might find you here." Strauss, Arthur noted, had that damn ledger in his hand.

  "No thank you, Mr. Strauss."

  "...Mr Morgan?"

  "Money lendin', right? Debt collectin'?"

  "It is legal work, Mr Morgan."

  "Perhaps it is Mr Strauss. But it's foul and I've had my fill of it."

 "If you're quite sure Mr Morgan." Strauss made one last attempt, "You do get thirty percent..."

  "Thirty percent of how much?" Micah had stepped into the clearing.

  "Well now, Mr Bell, that all depends on you..." Strauss and Micah walked off together, talking.

  _Good riddance to ya both_ , Arthur thought returning to his pitchfork.

___________________

  All was calm that afternoon when Arthur suddenly came tearing into camp on his big grey warhorse, Valkerie, clutching little Jack tight to his chest. Ignoring Miss Grimshaw's protests, he rode right up to the table where Tess and Abigail were drinking coffee and chatting with Uncle and Charles.

  Arthur jumped down, still holding Jack "Go get your Mama now, boy." he said ushering him over to Abigail. He handed Val's reigns to Tess, "Tess, honey, would you mind?" Without waiting for an answer he sprinted off toward Dutch's tent. The table exchanged nervous looks, this couldn't be good.

  It wasn't. Pinkerton agents, Milton and Ross, had approached Arthur while he and Jack were fishing. They were working for Cornwall, who was rather tired of the gang robbing his trains. Agent Milton had told Arthur there was a five thousand dollar price on his head alone, but that who they really wanted was Dutch. They had let Arthur go in the hopes that their promise that he wouldn't swing if he led them to Dutch would be enough for him to turn. Of course, Arthur never even entertained the idea; he was nothing if not loyal. But it was only a matter of time until agents found the camp. It was time to move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the poem Tranquillity
> 
> And I always thought it was a dumb move to stay put after the Pinkertons confronted Arthur, so I made them move. I'm sure the folks in Valentine would appreciate it.


	4. Recall Each Step I Took, Each Path I've Known

"Rhodes looks...dusty." Tess said, setting Arthur's binoculars down on the seat between them. They were passing by the town on their way to the new campsite, Arthur driving the munitions wagon that served as part of his lodging. Tess had been hoping to scope out the town a little as they passed, but the dust had not allowed her to see much.

It was another hot dry day, and now they were headed _south_. Still, Arthur had mentioned that the new site was on a lake and Tess looked forward to dipping her feet a bit. Sighing she rested her head on Arthur's shoulder.

"Somethin' wrong darlin'?" he asked, planting a kiss atop her head.

"Oh, no, not really." she replied "I'm just ready to get off this damn wagon and start getting camp set up."

At the mention of setting up camp Tess could feel Arthur become tense. She lifted her head to look at him.

"Arthur? What's wrong? Are you worried about the new place?"

"What? No, no," Arthur reassured her, "the spot is great." He still seemed uncomfortable.

"It's just...um..." he stumbled over his words "I just... I been thinkin'... it really don't make sense to set up _two_ tents does it?" He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced nervously at her " I mean mine is more than big enough..."

"Why Mr Morgan, I never!" Tess sat up in mock outrage. "Are you suggesting a fine upstanding lady like myself shack up with a ruffian the likes of you?"

Her tone was harsh, but her smile couldn't help but betray her words.

Arthur rolled his eyes and kissed her. "And she calls _me_ silly." he muttered. Smiling they drove on.  
________________________  
Spirits were high in camp that evening. They had arrived without incident and set quickly about the task of getting things in order. Tess was setting out a couple of framed photos when Uncle, drunk as usual, stumbled over and noticed she had her things in Arthur's tent.

"Hey!" he announced loudly for all to hear "Tess and Arthur is shackin' up!"

Tess turned bright pink and Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, grinning at the ground, as there was a loud chorus of catcalls and wolf whistles from the men and a ton of giggling from the girls. They endured a fair amount of teasing around the campfire that night, but it was all good natured and in general the gang seemed pleased for them.

Even Dutch had to admit it was nice to see Arthur so happy. Odd, but nice.

_Hmm,_ he thought to himself _maybe I can take him off horseshit detail for a while._

As the hour got later (and the gang got drunker) Arthur and Tess, looking for a little peace and quiet, thought they might take a stroll down by the lake. As they walked off, hand in hand, Uncle led the last few members of the gang who hadn't fallen asleep (or passed out) in a rousing chorus of "Tess and Arthur sittin' in a tree..."

They were walking down the path to the beach, laughing about the song, when suddenly Sean staggered out of the bushes, clearly drunk and knife in hand.

"You ruined my life, Arthur Morgan!" he yelled, his brouge so thick with whiskey Arthur could barely understand him.

Lurching forward he slashed at Arthur, who sidestepped it easily, causing Sean to lose his balance and fall to the ground, dropping the weapon.

"Ah, fuck it." he said dejectedly to Arthur who stood above him looking confused "You'd just kill me anyway. Go on and do it then, what do I care?"

Arthur turned questioningly to Tess, who was looking at Sean with a mixture of concern and maybe a little guilt on her face.

"Arthur, sweetheart, let me talk to him a minute would you? Wait here?"

Arthur nodded and held out a hand to help Sean up. Sean waved it off, getting clumsily to his feet and walking with Tess to sit on a fallen log a little ways down the beach. Arthur lit a cigarette and sat down on a rock to wait.

______________

Tess and Sean sat silently for a moment, each thinking of just what to say.

"I'm sorry." Sean said finally, staring out over the water "I guess I thought you and me..." he trailed off.

"Sean, that was so long ago."

"I know. But seein' you again after all these years..." he turned to face her "I never stopped lovin' you, ya know."

Tess looked at him sadly "You never came back."she said "After Monty died, you never came back. I thought you were dead, too. We all did. I _mourned_ you. Then, two years later I see you on a wanted poster - a new one, for recent crimes, and I realize you could have come back. You just... didn't."

" I was scared." Sean's eyes dropped to where his hands were wringing in his lap. "Monty was the first person I'd seen killed, you know - up close like that, and I was scared." He looked back up at her, "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too, Sean. But those days are long gone, its too late to bring them back, and now...

"Arthur."

"Yes."

Sean looked her hard in the eye."You love him, then? Truly?"

Tess beamed "I do."  
_I never made her light up like that._ Sean thought sadly.

"Alright then," he said with a sigh "but if he ever, _ever_ does wrong by you..."

Tess gave him a soft smile and pecked his cheek, "Thank you, Sean."

Sean got up to leave, rubbing the spot where she'd kissed him.

 

Arthur stood as Sean came weaving back up the path to camp.

"Sean - " he began, but was cut off.

"You just make damn sure you're good to her Arthur Morgan."

"I will, Sean." Arthur answered him seriously.

Sean's eyes narrowed briefly, then -

"Bah!" he waved Arthur off and continued up the path, tipping the now mostly empty whiskey bottle dangling from his hand up to his lips.

Arthur watched him for a moment, then headed to the fallen log where Tess was waiting.

They sat together in silence for a few moments, watching the moonlight reflect off of water before Tess spoke.

"I'm sorry, Arthur."

"For what, darlin'?"

She turned to look at him.

"I should have told you before. Sean and I... have a past."

"Yeah, I know."

"You do?"

"Sure." He gave her a little half smile. "We was all there when you came ridin' into camp, we all saw how ya looked at each other. Don't get far in this kinda life if ya can't read people a little, ya know."

"It was a long time ago," Tess began to explain, "There's nothing - "

Arthur waved his hand to cut her off.

"Don't worry about it, we all have things in our past."

He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. "In fact, I guess I should probably tell you about -"

"Mary?" Tess interrupted.

Arthur looked shocked "How'd ya know about that?"

"Oh Arthur," Tess said with a soft laugh "once we started spending time together Mary-Beth and Tilly couldn't tell me fast enough."

"O' course." he mumbled, shooting a venemous look back up toward camp. "She wrote to me a while back, not too long before you joined us... I went to see her. Twice, actually."

"And?"

Arthur stared out over the water while he thought about his answer.

"It was the same old thing." he said after a long moment. "She didn't really want to see me, she wanted my help. She only cares for me, who I really am, when I'm useful to her. The rest of the time is tryin' ta change me, fit me into _her_ mold, _her_ world. All while lookin' and talkin' down on mine." He looked back at Tess "Guess I finally realised I was tired of it."

Tess took Arthur's hands in hers and looked deep into his eyes, "I love you Arthur Morgan." she told him softly, "You _are_ my world."

Arthur rested his forehead against hers "I love you, too, darlin'."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the poem Secret Pass


	5. Where Now the Thunder-Throated Guns of Death

  It was happening. The grand scheme Dutch and Hosea had been working for months now was going down tonight.

  Tess sat, waiting, in the back of the wagon hidden deep in the woods. She was worried for Arthur; hell, she was worried for _everyone_. For what felt like the thousandth time, she went over the plan in her head.

  The first part had gone off well enough. Dutch had become deputy (Tess couldn't help but smile at the absurdity of this) and new favorite drinking companion to Sheriff Gray. Arthur, too, had been deputized, but he stayed away from town, working in the swamps or out on the Gray's property. Most folks around town, when hearing talk of the new deputies, assumed it was Dutch and Bill, who stuck around Dutch for just this reason.

  At the same time, Hosea had been courting the widow Braithwaite, frequently accompanied by his nephew - Arthur. During one such visit Hosea feigned offense at a nonexistent snub and lost a kitchen girl her job. That position was quickly filled - by Sadie.

  As neither family trusted much of anyone, and least of all each other, neither used the local bank for more than certain business dealings. The bulk of their fortunes they kept safe themselves.

  In a stroke of pure luck Hosea, pretending to be asleep while spending the night with Mrs Braithwaite, had observed her getting into a large safe concealed behind a portrait in her bedroom. The stacks of bills he saw inside looked _very_ promising.

  As for the Grays, a couple of bottles of Pearson's navy rum and some mock outrage over the "poor moral fiber" of the Braithwaites was all Dutch had needed to loosen the Sheriff's tongue. The Sheriff boasted that the Braithwaites would never find the Gray gold. They had been smart, ya see, they didn't keep the safe in the house. It was in the cellar under the stable.

____________

 

  And now the night had come at last. Dutch had been whipping the Grays up into an alcohol fueled frenzy for weeks. Tonight, along with Arthur, he would lead an attack on Braithwaite manor to help the Grays take back what was theirs. What exactly that was Dutch didn't know, or care. The fight was merely the distraction.

  Dutch would lead the charge on the front of the house while Arthur and two Grays would sneak around back. Once Dutch started his monologue, attracting attention to the front of the house, they would enter through the kitchen. This is when Arthur, with his hunting knife, and Sadie - waiting behind the kitchen door with a large carving knife, would slit the throats of the two Grays. Sadie would help herself to one of their guns, retrieve the saddlebags she had hidden behind some flour sacks in the pantry, and she and Arthur would make their way upstairs.

  If all went well (and God, Tess hoped it was going well) they should be able to get upstairs without much trouble. Sadie would go first. Just a scared kitchen girl running from the violence that, by now, would have erupted outside. She would clear the way for Arthur if need be. They were hoping that Arthur himself wouldn't attract much attention, seeing as both the Braithwaites and Grays recognized him as someone who (they thought) would be fighting on their own side.

  When they reached Mrs Braithwaite's bedroom Sadie would wait outside, gun and knife concealed in the folds of her skirt. Arthur would enter the room and crack the safe. If any trouble came along Sadie would deal with it, quietly using the knife if possible. If not, they hoped her gunfire wouldn't stand out too much against the gunfire out front.

  The way out might be more conspicuous, with them each carrying a saddlebag (hopefully) bulging with cash and jewelry. But, Tess knew, when Arthur and Sadie fought together it was a force of nature. They'd get out ok, and woe be to anyone who got in their way.

  Exiting back through the kitchen, they'd sneak through the fields to where the raiding party had left their horses. While Arthur loaded Val with the saddlebags Sadie would unhitch and drive off the Grays' horses, slowing down anyone who might try to follow.

  From there they would lead Val and The Count through the fields to a small shack on the edge of the property. They would pay the field hand who lived there, (a contact of Lenny's, he just wanted enough to travel north - away from the Braithwaites who treated him as though slavery had never ended) hitch The Count outside and make their escape on Val to the wagon where Tess waited. The field hand would then simply go inside and light the lamp in his window.

  That light would be the signal Dutch was waiting for.

_______________________________

 

  Dutch would put on a show during the fight, and no one could put on a show quite like Dutch.

  He would shout threats and admonitions at the Braithwaites, he would rile up and encourage the Grays, but he would do very little fighting. Oh, he would fire a shot here and there, but mostly he would stay well covered and watch the little shack on the edge of the property. When the light came on, he would simply fade out of the fight and through the fields. Then he'd grab The Count and take off in the opposite direction from Arthur and Sadie. He'd head for one of the three groups the gang had split into, each with a wagon hidden deep in the woods, each in a different direction from the fight.

  Meanwhile, Caliga Hall would be left with minimal protection. Charles and Javier, the gang's best men when you wanted something done quietly, would sneak onto the grounds with - of all people, Trelawny. Tess could hardly believe Arthur when he told her who would be going. Charles and Javier made sense. With Charles' bow and Javier's knives, there was a good chance not a single shot would need to be fired. Trelawny, though, hardly seemed like the man to take along when you wanted a job done quietly. Chuckling, Arthur had reassured Tess that Trelawny could keep his mouth shut when he needed to. Also, he was the best safe cracker they had, even better than Arthur. He was, however, less than useless in a firefight and they wanted to keep him far from it.

  Once they had cleaned out the cash, they would head out to meet the third wagon. When each team had met up they would follow three different routes to a safehouse Trelawny had in the foothills northwest of Strawberry. They would reconnect there, gather supplies, and begin their trip to the west and freedom.

______________________

  It was taking too long. Tess checked the watch that was sitting on the chest next to her. They should have been back by now. She climbed to the opening at the back of the wagon, careful not to disturb Abigail, who was asleep with Jack in her lap, and looked out. Tess could tell that John was worried, too. He had left his spot on the seat of the wagon with Bill, and was pacing around idly, his hand on the butt of his gun. They caught each other's eye in a nervous glance, but neither said anything.

  The silence seemed to stretch out forever, until Tess thought she would lose her mind. Then suddenly she could make out the sound of hooves. They were headed this way - and fast.

  "Who's there?" John called out as the sound grew close.

  "Its me!" Sadie replied. "And Arthur. He's hurt."

  Tess practically flew out of the back of the wagon, no longer giving a damn who she woke up. "What happened?"

  "I'm fine." Arthur lied through gritted teeth from the back of the horse.

  He was pale and sweaty, and when Sadie jumped down they could see the front of his shirt was covered in blood, as was Sadie's where he'd clung on to her.

  Tess gasped "Oh, God. Arthur!"

  "It was that Braithwaite woman" Sadie explained as John and Bill helped Arthur off the horse and over to the wagon. "We got in fine and he got the safe open. He was cleaning it out when she comes running out of a closet or something with a knife. He managed to knock her out, but she got in a pretty good jab first."

  "I said, I'm _fine._ " Arthur grumbled, even as his knees started to buckle beneath him.

  John and Bill caught him and got him into the wagon. "No, you're clearly not fine, Arthur." John snapped "Now will you shut up and let us tend to you?"

  Arthur let out a strangled grunt as he was laid down in the wagon, but he stopped protesting.

  Tess opened his shirt while Abigail looked for the medical box. Seeing the three inch stab wound below Arthur's ribs almost made Tess cry out, herself.

  _No time for that_ she thought, taking the supplies Abigail offered. She set the needle and thread to the side, and drenched a clean rag with the strongest alcohol they had on hand - moonshine.

  "I'm sorry, sweetheart," she said to Arthur "but this is going to hurt." Tess then set about cleaning and then stitching his wound.

  Arthur gnashed his teeth when Tess applied the alcohol soaked rag, and when she began stitching he strained so hard she thought the cords in his neck would snap, but he never made a sound. Abigail (who had been on Arthur's other side, holding his hand) confessed later that he squeezed her hand so hard that she had feared her fingers might break.

  When it was all done, Arthur grimmaced and sat up.

  "What the hell do you think you're doing, Morgan?" John asked from where he had been watching at the end of the wagon. "You need to rest. And we need to get moving." He turned to join Bill who had returned to the driver's seat.

  "No, I need to protect the wagon!" Arthur attempted to button his blood soaked shirt with shaking hands. "What if there's trouble?"

  The wagon gave a lurch and slowly started to move. 

  " I think you've seen more than enough trouble for one night." Tess said, gently pushing him back down. "John and Bill are more than capable of taking care of the wagon."

  Arthur still looked skeptical.

  "And," Tess pointed out the back to where Sadie followed, a jacket now covering the blood on her shirt. "Sadie is on rear guard."

  The idea of Sadie on guard seemed to satisfy Arthur. He stopped struggling against the hands trying to hold him down and allowed himself to rest.

  It didn't take long for sleep to find him. As he started to drift off he looked up at Tess.

  "I'm sorry darlin'." he muttered.

  Tess' brow furrowed in confusion. "Sorry? For what, Arthur?"

  Arthur's eyes drifted closed. "Sorry... sorry I got stabbed." he whispered as sleep finally took him.

  With that the tears that had been threatening Tess finally spilled over. She brushed the hair back off of Arthur's brow, still slick with sweat, and kissed his forehead.

  "Oh, you silly man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem After Tomorrow


	6. And Something of its Own Glad Gaiety

  The three day trip to the safehouse was miserable. Trying to get Arthur Morgan to rest was like trying to stack water.

  He insisted he was fine. He cursed. He moaned. He complained. He even threatened. It was incessant, and it was driving the others crazy.

  On the second day of this, just as Tess was seriously contemplating chucking Arthur over the side of the wagon and leaving him there, Sadie had enough.

  She pulled her gun and leveled it at him, "You are gonna lay down and shut the hell up one way or the other, Arthur Morgan.", she growled.

  Arthur raised his hands in surrender. "Fine," he grumbled, leaning back into his pillows, a small grin playing at the corner of his mouth, "but I'll remember this, Mrs Adler."

  The rest of the trip passed much more peacefully. Arthur spent most of it propped up on his pillows while writing or sketching, and occasionally yelling up to John and Bill about what they were doing wrong. He tried to get up once or twice, but had caught Sadie's eye and, muttering curses under his breath, lowered himself back down to instead write furiously in his journal.

______________________

 

  When they arrived at Trelawny's safehouse late in the afternoon of the third day, they could see one wagon and several horses outside. Among them was Dutch's white Arabian, The Count. There was no sign yet of Charles' and Javier's party.

  _Dutch is here and the money ain't, yet,_  Arthur thought grimly, _he must be losin' his mind._

  His suspicions were confirmed a moment later when Dutch burst out the door, visibly relieved to see them.

  "Friends! What kept you?", he called from the front porch. His expression clouded when he realized Arthur wasn't driving as usual. "What happened? Where's Arthur?"

  "I'm right here, Dutch. Its okay.", Arthur called back, jumping down from the back of the wagon.

  Dutch noticed Arthur's grimmace and the way he briefly clutched his side when his feet hit the ground. He hurried over to him.

  "My boy, are you alright? What happened?"

  "Turns out, that Braithwaite woman had more fight in her than we thought." Arthur held out a hand to Tess who hopped down next to him. "She got the jump on me while I was cleaning out the safe. But, the ladies took good care o' me," he said, shooting Sadie a dirty look, "and the rest of the job went _very_ well."

  Dutch caught his meaning. "Well," he said, eyes sparkling, as Arthur handed him one of the saddlebags he had filled with the safe's contents, "let's go inside and see just _how_ well, shall we?"

  Just then, the third wagon rounded the bend in the road leading to the house. They had expected to see Charles riding out front on Taima, and were surprised to see her instead hitched to one of the barrel wagons homesteaders often used to transport water. Charles was in the driver's seat.

  Turns out they'd encountered a small problem of their own, Charles explained.

  Everything had started out according to plan. The property was left with only a few guards, and they'd been easy enough to take out. Trelawny had no problem cracking the large safe. Once it was open, however, there was a _small_ problem. Unlike the Braithwaites, whose safe was filled mostly with bills, the Gray's gold was just that: gold. Gold bars to be exact, at least fifty of them. Probably more.

  They had stood in awe at the sight of it for a moment until Javier whispered, "Dios mio...Amigos, how are we going to carry this?"

  That had spurred them back into action. Javier found a wheelbarrow in the stable and he and Trelawny began loading it with gold bars while Charles went to try to find a solution.

  Luckily, it wasn't long before he came walking back into the stable leading Taima. She was hitched to the emptied barrel wagon, which they quickly filled with the bars. It barely held them all.

  The rest had gone without incident, but unlike Arthur's big warhorse Valkyrie, Taima was an appaloosa. She was fast and nimble, but she was small, and pulling a wagon loaded with gold had slowed her down.

  "Well," Dutch said when Charles finished his story, "what matters is we're all here now," he clapped Arthur on the shoulder, "and no one was hurt _too_ badly."

  Hearing that, Charles looked over at Arthur opening his mouth as if to speak, but before he could say anything Dutch had climbed up beside him. Taking the reigns, he led Taima around to the barn so she could be relieved of her burden, and he could see the gold for himself.

  The job had indeed gone well. Between the Gray gold and the cash and jewelry from the Braithwaite safe, Hosea figured they had come away with close to sixty thousand dollars, depending on where they could fence the jewelry.

  They would lie low here for a few days, gathering supplies and planning a route west. Trelawny would help with that. He wouldn't be joining them, but he could make sure they passed through a few towns where he had contacts that would be happy to take the jewelry off their hands.

________________

 

  That evening Tess was rummaging around in her trunk when she heard Arthur enter the upstairs room they would share for the next few days. He cleared his throat.

  "Tess, honey, I... uh... I need to speak to you about somethin'."

  Tess straightened up to look at him. He was looking at the floor, one hand rubbing the back of his neck, a sure tell that he was nervous about something.

  She crossed the room to him. "Sweetheart, what is it? Is something wrong?"

  "What? No... no. Nothing's wrong." He took her hand. "I just... well, I mean... maybe you should sit down." He guided her over to the bed and she sat, her expression concerned.

  Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet bag, the contents of which he tipped into his palm.

  Tess gasped when she saw it was a small gold band set with a pretty blue stone. Her heart fluttered in her chest when Arthur dropped to one knee and held it out to her.

  "Tess, darlin' -" he began.

  Just then the door opened and John Marston walked in looking at something in his hand.

  "Hey, Arthur, you seen my..." he looked up at where the two of them were frozen in place staring at him, Arthur still holding out the ring."Oh... oh  _shit_...  **shit**! I'm so sorry," he mumbled backing out of the room, a grin beginning to spread across his face.

  "So... _so_... um... okay...," Arthur stammered as he and Tess turned their attention back to one another, "as I was sayin'... or... I should say... I mean what I _meant_ to say... would you... or, I guess that is _will_ you..."

  Tess took Arthur's face in her hands, cutting him off.

  "Yes."

  Arthur's smile was huge. "Really?"

  "Really."

  He slipped the ring on her finger and she threw her arms around his neck, kissing him and pulling him onto the bed with her.

  "Come here you silly man."

  "Hold that thought." Arthur grinned, and he rushed across the room to lock the door.

____________

  Later, when Tess and Arthur made their way downstairs, they rounded the landing and froze. A room full of expectant faces stared up at them.

  " _Well_ , don't keep us in suspense, Arthur." John scolded, "What'd she say?"

  Tess turned bright pink and Arthur rubbed the back of his neck, but neither could stop smiling.

  "Well, she uh, she said yes."

  A cheer erupted in the room and they were quickly surrounded and pulled apart. The ladies all crowded around Tess, pulling her hand this way and that to see the ring in every possible light. The men gathered around Arthur, shaking his hand and clapping him on the back.

  Even Micah (whom Arthur noticed had picked up a slight cough) offered his congratulations, insincere as they may have seemed.

  Once well-wishes had been extended for the fifth or sixth time Trelawny pulled out a few bottles of champagne he had stashed, who knows where, and Dutch cranked up the gramaphone. Tipping Arthur a wink, Dutch twirled Tess out of her seat and into a dance. Soon Hosea cut in, then Charles. Tess laughed, delighted, as she was spun between almost every male member of the gang.

  Arthur watched from the corner, smiling and muttering about how he couldn't dance whenever one of the ladies approached him. That is until Susan Grimshaw marched up to him and held out her hand.

  "I, uh, can't..."Arthur started.

  She cut him off. "You can't dance, yes, we've all heard. Repeatedly. But, if there's gonna be a wedding then it's high time you learned."

  "Best not to fight it, son!" Dutch called out, laughing, from where he was now dancing with Molly.

  Arthur reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled onto the floor. While he was by no means a good dancer, he wasn't as terrible as he seemed to think he was. Susan's toes were (for the most part) left unscathed and Arthur soon found himself dancing with each of the ladies in turn. He continued to protest and grumble, but his smile gave him away.

  When they weren't dancing the champagne flowed fast, many of the several toasts led by Sean. It did his heart good to see Tess so damn happy. And, after all, he loved an excuse to drink the good stuff.

  He raised his glass again, "To the Morgans!", he yelled.

  "The Morgans!", everyone raised their glasses, cheering.

  Things were looking up, and the gang drank, danced and laughed late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem Love Out of Season


	7. The Turning Tide of Life is at its Ebb

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mind the tags  
>  This is the chapter with the murder-suicide. Its not super graphic or anything, but still.

  The trip west was not an easy one. There were the anticipated difficulties: mountain passes and incliment weather, predators of all kinds - animal and human, and all of the usual rigors of travel. All of this, however, they were accustomed too and prepared for. What they were not prepared for was Micah.

  Micah was sick. Really sick.

  The cough Arthur noticed on the night he'd proposed to Tess hadn't gotten better. It had, in fact, gotten much worse.

  It didn't help that Micah was so damn stubborn. They were headed northwest and the weather was becomimg colder and wetter. Still, whenever anyone suggested he ride inside one of the wagons, just to warm up, he'd become surly.

  "Its just a damn cold!" He'd snap, then ride out ahead of the wagons to where no one would nag him.

  It was after one such encounter with Dutch that everyone found out just how bad it really was. They'd caught up to him about twenty minutes up the road.

  Micah was lying in the mud, coughs wracking his body, on the verge of losing conciousness. He looked up as Dutch jumped down from his horse.

  "Oh goddamit." He sputtered, and passed out.

__________________

 

  It was decided, Micah needed to see a doctor. They would be meeting one of Trelawny's contacts the following day. Hosea would take care of business and see if he could offload some of the Braithwaite jewelry. Dutch would accompany Micah into town to see the doctor. Micah had tried to argue, but Dutch would have none of it.

  "You are going to see a doctor, Micah. Now, would you prefer riding your own horse, or would you rather be hogtied to the back of mine?"

  Micah glared at Dutch, but knew it would be pointless to argue.

  He also knew it was pointless to see a doctor. He wouldn't say it, but he knew what was wrong. Thomas Downes, one of Strauss' debtors, had spat right in his face. Two days later Downes was dead of tuberculosis. It didn't take a genius to put it together.

  The following afternoon his suspicions were confirmed. Micah was dying.

_______________

 

  Upon learning the truth of Micah's situation, everyone agreed it would be best to stop and make camp for a few days. The weather wasn't letting up, and at least this way they could get him into a tent while they figured out their next move. They had been travelling northwest, toward the Washington territories, but the doctor had said Micah needed to be somewhere warm and dry.

  Dutch and Hosea were in Dutch's tent discussing the merits of Nevada and the fairness of upending the entire group's future for the sake of one dying man's health when they were interrupted by a disturbance outside.

  They stepped out to see Micah splayed on the ground next to the fire. Reverend Swanson, clearly drunk, was slowly backing away from him staring at his own upraised fists as if in shock. The others were frozen in their seats watching apprehensively, with the exception of Charles who had jumped to his feet.

  Micah struggled to sit up. "Stop... starin', " he croaked out between coughs," don't you... don't you... fuckin' look at me!"

  He staggered to his knees, staring down every member of the group in turn, still choking back coughs. Then his eyes found Strauss.

  "You." He whispered, "You did this to me."

  Without warning he pulled his gun and fired. Strauss collapsed instantly, a bullethole in his forehead.

  Before anyone could even react, Micah put the gun in his mouth and fired again.

_______________

 

  The rest of the trip was somber. Neither man was exactly well liked within the camp, but you never wanted to see it end like this. Hosea hardly talked to anyone for days. Mary - Beth, who had been sitting behind Micah, began having nightmares. Everyone was just glad that Jack had been asleep in his tent with Abigail at the time.

  But no one took it harder than Reverend Swanson. He felt himself to be responsible for the deaths, both of them. If he hadn't been drunk he never would have let Micah goad him into throwing a punch. He knew the man was sick and weak, needing to prove something to himself by picking a fight with someone he still thought he could beat. If he hadn't thrown the punch, knocking Micah down and proving him wrong, he wouldn't have wounded the man's pride. And, if he hadn't wounded Micah's pride two more men would be alive.

  He didn't talk much, but the next day Arthur saw the Reverend dumping out his liquor and breaking his syringe. He would never touch either again.

  Charles and Bill had taken care of Strauss and Micah's bodies, burying them in the woods near the lake where they'd camped. The experience had soured even Dutch on money lending, and Strauss was buried along with his ledger - all debts absolved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the poem Decadence


	8. I Saw Them There , Odd Fragments Quaintly Bright

  It was starting to get dark. Tess stretched and started gathering up her sewing. She was sitting on the swing Arthur had hung on the porch of their little house, working on her wedding dress, but Arthur was not to see it ahead of time and he should be home soon.

  _Home_. The word made Tess smile.

  She could still barely believe it, they had actually made it. The gang had arrived in the Washington Territory in early October. ( _No, the family._ Tess corrected herself. _We're not a gang anymore, we're living clean now._ ) They had purchased fifteen hundred acres just east of the Cascade mountains. The land was dirt cheap, as no one else really wanted it. It was hot and arid in the summers, and harsh and snowy in the winter, no good at all for farming. But, unlike most, Charles had seen the potential. It would be the perfect spot for a horse ranch, there were herds of wild horses in the area that could be rounded up, broke, and auctioned or bred. Best of all, it was essentially in the middle of nowhere. The cities were growing fast west of the mountains, near the seaports, but out here there wasn't much. There was a small ( _very_ small) town nearby with a general store and saloon. They really didn't need, or want, much more than that. They bought the land, and two fine Arabian mares (who would soon make The Count's acquaintance), and set about building a new life.

  They had spent October (and part of November) living out of tents again, but by Thanksgiving the main house was finished and they were all able to move inside. It was a tight fit with everyone, but this house would ultimately be home to just Dutch, Molly, Hosea, Mrs Grimshaw, Mary-Beth, and Tilly. The rest of the ranch was built the following spring. First was a large bunkhouse with private rooms for Charles, Keiren, Sean, Lenny, Bill, Javier, Sadie, and Uncle. Pearson's cookhouse was next with a large kitchen and a chow hall big enough to accommodate everyone. Breakfast and supper were often just the boys, but the entire gang (no, _family_ ) gathered there everyday for lunch. There were two rooms above, one for Pearson, and one for Karen. She had flat-out refused to live in the big house with Molly and Grimshaw, so she helped Pearson, chopping vegetables and washing dishes. There were also two smaller, private homes for the Marstons and (soon-to-be) Morgans and, of course, there were the barns and stables. Reverend Swanson had taken a small share of the money and built a little church on the edge of town, where he lived, but he still joined them most days at lunchtime.

  They were still all living in the big house together when Christmas had come. Tess chuckled to herself at the memory.

  There had been a lot of good-natured grumbling about the lack of space, but really they were all just happy to be together - safe and in their own place, for the holiday. Arthur and Charles had brought in a huge tree and it was soon piled high with presents. To everyone's surprise (none more so than his own) big, gruff, Arthur Morgan turned out to be a complete sap when it came to Christmas. He had gifts for everyone, and at least six for little Jack alone. There were more for the baby Abigail had on the way, though she wasn't even due until June. He brought in evergreen boughs and decorated the mantle. He put mistletoe in the doorways and kissed the cheek of _anyone_ caught underneath it (Bill learned this the hard way and grumpily tore it all down. Arthur, undeterred, replaced it all the next day.) He was even caught humming carols under his breath. No one really knew what to make of it.

  Mary-Beth had been beside herself when, instead of handing her a gift on Christmas morning, he had led her to the parlour and pulled a sheet off of a big, beautiful writing desk complete with fountain pens, blotter, and bound reams of fine writing paper.

  "Oh my goodness! Arthur, you remembered!" She'd gushed.

  "Well, sure. Once we're not all crammed inta one house we'll move it up to your room for ya. Thought'cha might like it over by the fireplace."

  She'd squealed and thrown her arms around Arthur so tight Tess had given her a playful warning about just who's man he was.

  For Tess, there was a big beautiful spinning wheel, and the promise of her own little flock of sheep once the weather broke.

  "Can't have ya using that little hand spindle thing Sean made ya, forever." He'd told her. "Ya need somethin' ya can prick your finger on, so I can keep ya for a hunnerd years. Ya know, just in case." He winked at her.

  "You just try getting rid of me, you silly man."

  Tess, who had heard Arthur go on and on about Copper, had given him a puppy. A black labrador he named Beau. When Arthur first saw the dog he was like a little boy, he was so excited. Tess just wanted him to promise he wouldn't take Beau into the bathtub with him. Much to her chagrin, Arthur would make no such promise.

 

  Now, six months later, all of the building was finished and the ranch was starting to turn a fair profit. Their first auction had been a modest success and a breeder, interested in The Count's stud potential, would be arriving in a few day's time.

  Smiling to herself Tess finished gathering up her things, scratching Beau on the head where he was sleeping next to the swing as she headed inside. She had just hidden away her dress and put on some water for tea, when Beau began barking and growling outside. Tess looked out the window to see three men she didn't know riding up to the main house.

___________________

 

  Arthur was at the main house talking to Dutch and Hosea about some materials they needed to purchase to mend a fence when he heard Beau begin barking. An angry, unfamiliar voice called out to the house.

  "Hey! We need to speak to the man in charge of this place!"

  The three men exchanged looks; they had been expecting this. Sean, who spent a fair few evenings at the saloon, had become friendly with a lot of the townsfolk. Almost all of them had warned him about the Buhrman brothers.

  The Buhrmans owned some land on the other side of town. Back when their parents had been alive it had been a farm, though not a very successful one. When their parents had died a few years back (under rather mysterious circumstances) the boys didn't care to farm. They preferred a different approach to making money. They called it "security," and most everyone in the area paid for it.

  Dutch, Arthur and Hosea headed outside, joined by Charles and Javier who had heard the shouting from the stables.

  Three men were waiting on their horses outside. The oldest looked to be around thirty, the youngest maybe twenty. They looked surprised, but not overly intimidated, to be met by five armed men.

  "May we help you, boys?" Dutch asked, his tone entirely unconcerned.

  "Who you callin' _boys_?", snarled the youngest jumping down from his horse, but his oldest brother shushed him.

  "Now, now, Hiram," he said, "maybe these fine gentlemen aren't aware of the quality _service_ we provide."

  "Oh yeah?" Arthur asked him, striking a match with his thumb and lighting a cigarette, "and just what service is that?"

  The eldest Buhrman gestured around the ranch. "This is a real nice place ya got here, we'd hate to see any harm come to it. We can help ya with that. For a price."

  Dutch smiled at him, "Well now, that's a real nice offer, ** _boys_** , but I think we can manage."

  The middle Buhrman spoke for the first time, "I think maybe, Joseph, these fellers don't quite take our meaning."

  Hosea chuckled, "Oh yes, son, we do."

  The youngest Buhrman had reached the end of his limited patience.

  "Gonna teach you some respect, old man." He reached for his gun, but Javier was faster. The young man's eyes widened in shock and he screamed as Javier's knife pinned his palm to the hitching post behind him. Before his brothers were able to register what was going on, they had five pistols leveled at them.

  "Now," growled Dutch, his voice low and menacing, "we don't much like people threatening us. We don't _like_ people threatening our _community_."

  The eldest Buhrman licked his lips nervously while his eyes ranged across the growing crowd. Sean, Lenny and Bill had heard the commotion and were now standing behind Dutch. Susan was on the porch, shotgun in hand.

  Arthur stepped forward, "That's right, _boy_." He flicked his cigarette butt at the Buhrman still struggling to unpin his hand from the hitching post. "And that don't just mean this ranch. Y'all are gonna need ta learn a new occupation. Yer days in the 'security' business is done." The crowd behind him murmured in agreement. "We hear one story, just _one_ , about ya terrorizin' the townsfolk again, and next time _we_ come to _you_. And trust me, you don't want that."

  Javier walked up to the youngest Buhrman, "I'll take that, pendejo," he said pulling his knife free of the boy's hand and the post it was stuck to. "Now get the hell outta here."

  The brothers said nothing, clearly shaken, as Hiram clumsily mounted his horse one-handed. No one had dared stand up to them before, at least no one they couldn't easily handle. These men were clearly different. Joseph motioned to his brothers and they turned and rode away, Hiram still nursing his injured hand.

_______________________

 

  Word of their encounter spread quickly through the small town, prompting another unexpected visit. This time from the Sheriff.

  He arrived just after lunchtime while everyone was still milling around the chow hall. The barn-style doors had been thrown open, as it was a hot day, and as the Sheriff rode up he could see them eyeing him warily. 

  "Good afternoon, folks."

  He called to them. Dutch met him near the doors. "Why, good afternoon, Sheriff... Davis, isn't it?" he offered his hand, "to what do we owe the honor?"

  Sheriff Davis nodded and shook Dutch's hand while he looked around at the others. "Would the ladies mind excusing us for a bit? I have some business I need to discuss with the men."

  He was surprised when every woman kept her seat.

  "No need for that," Dutch told him with a small chuckle. "We are a family, Sheriff, a community. Anything you can say to our men, you can say to our women."

  "Well, alright, then." The sheriff seemed a bit taken a back by this, but he continued. "I understand you had some visitors a while back. A few boys by the name of Buhrman? Mighta caused a little trouble."

  Javier laughed, "Didn't seem like much trouble to me." he said.

  "So it would seem. That's why I'm here." Sheriff Davis looked around at the group. If they had looked wary before it was nothing comapred to how they were looking at him now. "Now, I don't know exactly what happened, but the Buhrman boys have left. Some folks saw 'em drivin' their wagons outta town couple a nights ago. Seem to have abandoned that rock farm of theirs."

  "Yella' bastards." Arthur grumbled under his breath.

  "So. You've come to get our account of things, is that it, Sheriff?" Hosea asked.

  They were all surprised by his answer. "No sir, not at all." He continued.

  "See, folks don't come to a place like this on accident. You're either born in the middle of nowhere, or you come here because that's where you _want_ to be. Now, I don't know who you folks are. But, I know you're _somebody_." He held up his hand as a few people shifted in their seats. "And, honestly, I don't wanna know."

  They stared back at him in disbelief. After a moment Hosea lent voice to what they were all thinking. "I don't quite take your meaning, Sheriff."

  "No, I don't suppose you do." Sheriff Davis chuckled. "Ya see, this ain't Seattle, or Chicago, or San Denis. Heck, our little town don't even show up on most maps, an' that's the way we like it. We ain't got the army breathin' down our necks, no huge police force watchin' your every move. What we got is a _community_ " he nodded at Dutch "of people who look after each other, and so far, you folks fit right in."

  "We do?" Arthur asked, looking skeptical.

  "Maybe ya got sins in your past. Hell, I'm _sure_ ya do, but so do a fair few folks around here, myself included." The Sheriff paused and lit a cigarette. Puffing out smoke he continued. "What I do know is that you've been good for my town." He gestured to where Susan and Mary-Beth were sitting. "The ladies come to the general store once a week for dry goods and feed." Nodding at Charles he continued, "The butcher has had more meat, thanks to you. He can sell more of it, and cheaper. Your ranch is bringing buyers out here, so the saloon is actually renting out the rooms upstairs on occasion. And," he pointed at Sean, "that one practically keeps our working girls afloat all on his own."

  Sean winked and tipped his hat. "I do what I can." he smiled.

  Everyone laughed at that, breaking the tension somewhat.

  "Not to mention, the Buhrman boys're gone, and good riddance to 'em." Sheriff Davis continued, "I could go on, but you get the point. You've been good to us, _and_ you seem to share the same viewpoint most of us here do. We don't want this little town to grow _too_ much, we like bein' out of the way. But, we also like bein' able to feed ourselves, and you've helped with that. So... I've come to offer you a deal."

  No one said anything. They just waited, apprehension returning to some of their faces.

  "The first part is easy enough. Just keep your noses clean. You cause trouble here and this deal is off the table. I hope that's clear." he looked at Dutch, who nodded back at him. "The second part is this; I need a deputy. As I said, the town has grown a little and folks are doin' better. But, with that comes more drinkin' and carousin' and the like. Currently, the law around here is just myself and the occasional volunteer so's I can sleep. This town ain't got the budget to hire a decent deputy, so I need a volunteer, a _real_ one - one who can actually use a gun. I have a feelin' there's more than one man here qualified for the job."

  The sheriff cast a significant look around the room. "Now, this man would also be in charge of _bounties_." He snuffed out his cigarette, letting the impact of the word sink in. "I get a fair few bounty posters coming through my office. Too often these poor, simple folks here try to bring them in. Not one has been successful and just last year two of our folk died tryin'. I don't want any more posters going up in this town, but I also don't want folks who might be bad for my town and its people hiding out 'round here. I want them brought in, and quick. Your man would be the one responsible for collectin' the criminals what need collectin', and for decidin' on which posters is best... _ignored_."

  There was silence for a moment. Then Bill piped up from the back of the room. "If we're as bad as you seem to think, why come here alone? Why shouldn't we just kill you now?"

  Dutch shot Bill an angry look, but Sheriff Davis didn't seem concerned. "Well," he said "you could do that, sure. But then you'd be on the run. Even in the middle of nowhere killin' a lawman'll eventually get noticed. And my gut feelin' is that you folks have had enough of runnin'."

  Dutch surveyed the room, everyone looked to be in agreement, a few nodding their heads.

  "Sheriff Davis," he said, offering his hand "I believe we have a deal."

  The sheriff shook Dutch's hand and looked around the room. "Good. Now, about that deputy..."

  Sadie stood up. "I'll do it."

  The sheriff let out a short laugh. "Well, now, that's sweet of ya little lady. But, I really don't think a woman..."

  He was cut off by laughter sweeping through the room and he looked around, surprised. Sadie stayed standing.

  "Oh, sheriff," Hosea snickered "this isn't your average lady."

  "She's almost killed me more times than I can count, and I'm her friend." chuckled Arthur.

  "Still, I'd rather..."

  "Sheriff, I assure you" Dutch said, still smiling "there is no one on God's green earth I would want hunting me less than this woman. And that includes you."

  "Well... I guess... on a trial basis..."

  "You won't be disappointed, Sheriff." Sadie told him. "Now, why don't we go take a look at them bounty posters you was talkin' about?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem An Ember in the Dark


	9. Give Us This Beauty That Will Conquer Power

  Tess and Arthur were married toward the end of that summer. It was a simple wedding held in the parlour of the main house with Reverend Swanson conducting the ceremony. Tess's maid of honor was Tilly. She'd had such a hard time deciding, she wanted all the girls to be in the bridal party. Arthur had to remind her that he'd have to match the number with groomsmen, and there'd be no one left to watch. Arthur's choice for best man was much easier, John had been raised next to Arthur as his brother, there was never any question. Dutch and Hosea shared the duties of father of the bride, with Hosea walking Tess down the aisle and Dutch having the honor of the first dance.

  In attendance was mainly the family. Lenny brought a local girl he had begun courting, and Sheriff Davis was invited, but had declined so Sadie could attend. Though no one knew how to reach him, no one was surprised when Trelawny had unexpectedly shown up for a visit about a week before.

  They _were_ surprised, however, when another stagecoach had pulled up to the ranch gate a few days before the wedding. Just as everyone was gathering for lunch an unfamiliar man, clearly from the city and carrying a large camera had stepped out. He looked around nervously at the group of strangers forming around him, until a familiar voice called out.

  "Albert!" Arthur pushed through the crowd to shake the man's hand. "I can't believe ya came - all the way from Chicago! "

  "Of course I came." Albert said gripping Arthur's hand, relief flooding his face as the faces around him relaxed. "You're my friend and you've helped me so many times. I wouldn't have missed it for the world. Besides, who else is going to take your wedding portrait?"

  Arthur clapped Albert on the back. "Yeah, ya never could resist a good photograph," he laughed "and at least this time the subjects won't be tryin' ta eat ya."

  To everyone's surprise, it turned out that over the years Arthur had made quite a few friends during the time he spent away from camp, and had written about his upcoming nuptials to the ones he trusted the most. Albert was the only one able to make the long journey to the ranch, but there were letters of congratulations from Hamish and Charlotte, a beautiful gold stamped bible from Brother Dorkins and Sister Calderon, and a painting from Charles Chatternay. Arthur hung the painting above the fireplace, though neither he nor Tess were ever quite sure it was the right way up.

  Albert stayed in Arthur and Tess' extra bedroom (Hosea had insisted they build it for the grandchildren he anticipated). He took pictures of everything and at lunchtime he and Arthur entertained them all with stories of the various creatures' dinners Arthur had saved him from becoming. Evenings were spent at the Morgan's home, Albert and Arthur catching up with what the other had been up to since they last saw each other. Albert hung on every word of Arthur's story about what happened in Rhodes and how they'd finally left the outlaw life behind.

  Albert was eager to share what he'd been doing as well, though he admitted, it wasn't quite as thrilling as Arthur's tale.

  "I've been working with the theater." he told them on the evening before the wedding. "Mostly publicity photos of actors, pictures for the handbills, things like that. Most of the time it's quilte boring, but every once in a while it becomes fascinating!"

  "Whaddya mean?" Arthur asked.

  "Well from time to time a show will come through that has more of a _horrific_ tone." Albert said, getting up and rummaging through his luggage as he spoke. "Frankenstien, The Hunchback of Notre Dame, The Legend Of Sleepy Hollow. That sort of thing."

  "And when they do," he handed Arthur a stack of photographs from his suitcase "the pictures become much more interesting."

  Arthur spread the photos out on the table, Tess gasped and looked away. There was a man who's face looked to have been sliced in half and stitched back together, one with a deformed face and a large hump on his back, another was clearly decapitited, and several were laying dead from gunshot wounds.

  "So," he asked Albert, confused and a little uncomfortable "you been takin' pictures of dead and disfigured folks?"

  Albert chuckled. "Not at all, my dear fellow. I assure you everyone in these photographs is alive and well, and as normal as you or I. In fact, these two," he pointed out one of the pictures of a gunshot victim and the one of the hunchback, "are actually the same man."

  Arthur and Tess both looked back at the pictures, shocked.

  "This guy's been shot through the neck," Arthur countered, clearly confused, "whaddya mean he's 'alive and well'?"

  "It's true Arthur, it is amazing what one can do with a bit of stage make-up, the right lighting, and a few tricks of the camera. Mostly, I just take the pictures, but one of women who does the make-up taught me a few tricks." Albert picked up one of the gunshot pictures. "I did this one completely on my own. You'd never guess that afterwards he got up, washed, and went home to his family, would you?"

  "No sir, I most definetly would not." Arthur said, taking the photograph and examining it closely. "This guy looks dead as a doornail."

  "Why thank you, Arthur."

  "Yes, they really are quite something Mr Mason. Very convincing, if somewhat gruesome." Tess said, gathering the pictures and handing them back to him before getting up and heading to the kitchen. "Coffee, anyone?"

  "Yes, please, but do call me Albert."

  "Sure, Darlin', thank you." Arthur smiled warmly at his bride-to-be, before turning back to Albert. "So, you headed back to the theater after the weddin', then?"

  "Oh, yes, eventually. I've never been this far west, thought I might spend some time out on the coast. Take some photographs of the ocean and the seaports and such."

  "I'd like to see those." Arthur mused. "Why don't ya stop by again on the way back?"

  "I'd like that." Albert replied as Tess returned with the coffe. "Thank you," he said taking a mug, "but, you know, it may not be for some time..."

  "Oh that doesn't matter Mr Mason." Tess said handing Arthur his coffee and wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. She would be spending the night at the big house where she would be getting ready for the wedding the following day. "Anytime you'd like, we'd love to have you." She kissed Arthur's cheek and headed towards the door. "Just don't keep him up too late tonight, he's got a big day tomorrow."

  The next day was bright and sunny, perfect for a wedding. The girls had filled the parlour with flowers and the windows were thrown open to let in the day. Up until the moment Hosea and Tess began the walk down the isle Arthur was terrified. As they waited by the altar, both in their Sunday finest, John kept his hand on his big brother's shoulder as if to keep him from jumping out of his own skin. When Tess walked through the doorway into the room, looking more beautiful than Arthur would have ever thought possible, he seemed to lose the ability to breathe, or hear, or think. But, then she smiled at him and as he returned the smile the world came rushing back, and everything was okay again - everything was _perfect_. The air returned to his lungs, and he could hear Mary-Beth and Karen (...and _Dutch?_ ) sniffling from their seats.

  They were married in the early afternoon, but the party went late into the night. The next morning the happy couple left for a little cabin on the Columbia river. Trelawney had arranged it as a wedding gift, and they would spend a short honeymoon there before Arthur was needed back at the ranch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem Smoke From This Altar


	10. The World About is Faint and Far Away

  Arthur watched the snow fall and fiddled with his hands. These last four months of being a married man had been wonderful, but he was begining to doubt he'd ever get used to wearing a ring. He was sitting on the porch swing, confiding in Beau about the issue, when Sadie came riding through the snow to the house.

  "Well," she said, hitching up Bob and joining Arthur on the porch "it's finally happened."

  Reaching into her coat, she pulled out some papers, and handed them to Arthur. He unfolded them just to see his own face staring back at him. As Arthur shuffled through the posters the faces of Dutch, Hosea, and John were also revealed. All with the words WANTED - DEAD OR ALIVE above them.

  "Has the sheriff seen these?" he asked Sadie.

  "No, Sheriff Davis is a good man, he's been true to his word. These posters come straight to me." She took them back from Arthur. "Right now I don't think its a problem, but that don't mean it won't be later."

  Sadie mounted Bob and turned toward the main house. "Anyhow, just thought ya should know. I'm gonna go tell the others." she told Arthur seriously.

  Then she smiled. "After that," she said " I'm gonna throw these in the fire."

____________

  While Arthur watched the snow, playing with his ring and worrying about the posters that Sadie was presumably burning, Tess had worries of her own.

  She was sitting at one of the big lunch tables with Abigail and Miss Grimshaw, bouncing Jack's baby brother Robert on her knee.

  "Are you certain?" Abigail asked her.

  "Well, I've missed my monthlies twice now, and last week I started being sick in the mornings..." Tess sighed. "So, I'm pretty sure."

  Susan nodded. "Yeah, sounds like it. And you're afraid to tell him." It wasn't really a question, as the answer was all over Tess' face.

  "Wouldn't you be?" Tess handed Robert back to his mother and began pacing around. "You both know about Isaac and what happened."

  "Have you ever talked about having children?" Abigail asked, stroking the head of her own newest son.

  "Not really..." Tess thought back to the times the idea of a baby had come up; the Christmas Abigail had been pregnant, when Hosea had insisted they build the extra room, maybe a couple other times in passing. While Arthur had never completely balked at the idea, he'd always kinda blown it off with a Sure, _someday_... But, Tess could see in his eyes how much the idea scared him. He felt he'd already failed one child, and he was terrified of it happening again. "I know its not an easy subject for him."

  Susan nodded. "He took that so hard. He tried to hide it, but we could tell." She thought back to how nervous, but also excited, Arthur had been when Isaac was born. He had always looked forward to the times he was able to visist his son and tried the best he could to do right by him and his mother. After Isaac's death Arthur had tried to be so stoic, at least with most of them. In those days the gang had consisted of only herself, Dutch, Arthur, Hosea, Bessie, and John who had come along just after Isaac's birth. The only person Arthur had allowed to see his grief was Bessie. Susan may have been like a big sister to him, but Bessie had been like a mother. _If only she could be here now_ , Susan thought. She sighed, "He was never really the same after that."

  Tess flopped back down in her seat, head in her hands. "Well, that makes me feel much better, thank you." she mumbled.

  "You're right and I'm sorry for that." Susan replied "But, in the end, it doesn't make much difference, does it? You have to tell him. If nothing else, it's gonna be pretty obvious, and pretty soon."

  "You're right." Tess sighed, stood up, and squared her shoulders. "No point in putting it off." She wrapped her shawl around herself stepped out into the snow.

  Their house was just on the other side of the yard, and when she walked outside she could see Arthur sitting on the porch. He was watching Sadie ride off toward the main house and twisting his ring on his finger. Tess smiled to herself; he'd get used to it eventually. As she drew closer, though, she could tell something was troubling him. He didn't see her at first. He seemed lost in his own thoughts. When he did eventually notice her walking up to the house he didn't smile and get up to meet her half way, as he usually did. Instead he just gave a half-hearted wave and continued to stare out into the snow.

  _Maybe this isn't the best time_ , Tess thought, _this is gonna be hard enough, at least see what's wrong first_.

  "Arthur, sweetheart? What is it?"

  She expected him to say it was nothing, to kiss her and reassure her that everything was fine. Instead he looked at her and sighed. "Sadie was just here," Tess felt her stomach drop "posters came through today. Me, Dutch, Hosea, and John"

  The color drained from Tess' face. "No. Oh , please no." she whispered, her voice trembling.

  "Hey, now." Arthur got up and took her hand. He'd known she wouldn't be happy, but she seemed to be taking this much harder than he'd expected. "We knew they'd come through eventually. So far it's just the posters, Sadie's takin' care of it. But, if anyone comes lookin', we can handle it."

  At the mention of someone coming to look for them Tess lost what composure she'd had, as tears began streaming down her face. Arthur pulled her into a hug. "Shh... shh... No one's comin'. Why's this got you so worked up, darlin'?"

  Tess didn't answer right away, she just continued to sob into Arthur's chest. When the worst had passed he put a finger under her chin, tilting her face up to his. "What is it?" he asked again.

  "Oh, Arthur...." Tess gulped and fought back the tears that were threatening to start again. "Arthur... I'm pregnant."

  For the briefest of moments Tess thought she saw something like excitement cross Arthur's face, but it was quickly replaced as a dark cloud passed over his features. He pushed back from her.

  "You sure?" he asked, his gruff voice barely more than a whisper.

  "Yes."

  Arthur ran his hand over his face and continued to back away from her.

  "I... uh, I... I need to...I can't..." Arthur backed down the steps, staring at Tess in disbelief, his voice barely audible, his face drained of color despite the cold. "I gotta... I... I gotta go..." He mounted Val, and without another word he turned and rode top speed away from the ranch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the Poem Interlude: Hong Kong Harbor


	11. A Dreaming That Haunts Me Awake and Asleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life
> 
> I dream, and my dreams are all broken;  
> I love and my loving is in vain...  
> I speak, and the words are all spoken,  
> I look and see nothing but pain.
> 
> L'Amour

  Dutch and Hosea were just returning to the ranch when Arthur went tearing past them out the gate. They'd called out to him, but it was as if he didn't even know they were there. The two shared a confused look, but decided to leave it alone. That is, until they rode past the Morgan household and saw Tess, still standing on the porch, tears streaming down her face. They immediatly rode over to her and dismounted.

  "Tess, my dear girl, whatever is the matter?" Hosea asked taking her hand and leading her to the porch swing where he sat down next to her.

  Dutch crouched in front of them. "We saw Arthur leaving in quite a hurry," he asked quietly taking her other hand. "Did you two have an argument?"

  Tess shook her head. "No... not exactly." The rest came out in a rush, "He was already worried, you know, because bounty posters have started coming through," (Dutch and Hosea shared a dark look over this news) "I know I should have waited... I never should have told him, but I did and he... he just left..."

  "Told him what, dear?" Hosea asked.

  "I never should have told him... I'm... I'm pregnant." With that Tess disolved into tears again, laying her head on Dutch's shoulder as he moved to her other side on the swing and put this arm around her.

  When she had calmed down again Dutch stood up. "Come on," he said holding out his hand. "It's freezing out here. Let's go inside and get you warmed up." He lead Tess to the door. "I'll make you some tea. Hosea, why don't you go see if you can find that son of yours. And knock some sense into him, please."

  Hosea kissed Tess on the cheek. "I'll, find him don't worry." He headed down the steps to Silver Dollar, "Now all of a sudden, he's _my_ son..." he muttered to himself as he mounted up and followed Arthur's still fresh tracks out the gate.

________________________________

 

  Arthur rode hard, with no real idea of where he was going. As he reached the river he finally stopped Val. He walked down to the bank and sat on a fallen log, not bothering to brush off the snow. He sat there staring at the water, not really seeing it, while the worst day of his life played over and over in his head.

  The day had begun better than most. It was clear and sunny and Arthur had risen early, managing to take down a pronghorn he would bring to Eliza. It was strapped to Bodeccia along with several packages containing gifts for Isaac, and a few for the boy's mother as well. He also had some money for them, and was looking forward to spending a few days with his son. Stopping in town, he picked up a newspaper. He'd been giving Eliza reading lessons and had forgotten to bring a book along. Skimming the front page as he put the paper away, Arthur saw that several houses in the area had been hit by bandits. Perhaps he'd give Eliza a couple shooting lessons too.

  It was a pleasant journey and Arthur was in high spirits, singing to himself as he rode. The song had died on his lips, however, when he turned onto the property. Near the front of the house, alongside the path to the door, were two wooden crosses. As he rode closer, Arthur's initial shock was quickly replaced by a horrible sense of numbness, of _nothingness_. Looking from the cold, dark house to the crosses bearing Isaac and Eliza's names he simply turned around and headed back.

  Everyone had known something was wrong when Arthur came back to camp that same evening, the pronghorn and other packages still on Bodeccia's back. He'd hitched the horse, his hands going through the practiced motions seemingly of their own accord, and didn't bother to relieve her of her burden before making his way toward his tent.

  "Arthur! What are you doing back so soon?" John had asked as Arthur passed by the table where everyone but Bessie was seated. Arthur acted as though he hadn't heard and continued on into his tent, closing the flaps behind him and sitting down on his cot.

  After a moment there came a voice just outside of his tent. "Arthur, son..." Dutch began. Arthur cut him off, his voice flat and emotionless.

  "Just leave me alone Dutch."

  Dutch did not reply, but Arthur heard him turn and walk away.

  Arthur didn't know how long he sat there. He was vaguely aware of the voices of the others, he assumed they were worried about him, but couldn't bring himself to care. He just sat, shoulders slumped, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor, for what felt like hours; until Bessie had come back to camp. Learning of Arthur's early return and his behaviour upon arrival, Bessie didn't wait for an invitation. She had walked right into Arthur's tent. Not saying a word, she sat down next to him putting her hand gently on his shoulder.

  With her touch Arthur's numbness broke, grief washing over him like a tidal wave. Sobs wracked his body until he thought he would break with the force of them. He doubled over with his head between his knees, hands clutching his hair, tears darkening the ground between his feet.

  Bessie simply sat beside him, her hand lightly rubbing his back. When his sobs eventually began to slow Arthur sat up. Laying his head on her shoulder he wiped his running eyes and nose on his sleeve, breath still hitching in his throat.

  "How?" Bessie asked him softly.

  Arthur's face turned suddenly hard. "Bandits." he said, standing up. "Goddamn bandits."

  He beagan to pace back and forth angrily.

  "What the hell did I _think_ was gonna happen?" Arthur's voice began rising to a shout. "A little boy alone with his mama! No one to protect them!" " He kicked the leg of his chair, sending it flying across the tent. "And where the hell was I?" He continued to pace, knocking into his table and sending the contents crashing to the floor. "Out robbin' and killin'! How many other little kids out there don't have a daddy to protect them no more, 'cause o' _me_?"

  He stopped pacing and turned back to Bessie his voice now flat and his face drained of emotion. "I had no right" he said, "I had no right bringing a child into this world, just for him to be killed. Killed by people like _me_."

  "Arthur, don't -" Bessie began, but Arthur cut her off.

  "It's true Bessie," he said "I'm a bad man. I am. I do bad things every day, and I don't see that stoppin' anytime soon. I never deserved to have a family." Arthur picked up the photo of himself and Mary from where it had fallen to the floor and looked at it for a moment. Sighing he laid it face down on the table. "I never should have been a father." he said looking back at Bessie, his face hard once more "I had no damn right."

_________________________

 

  Hosea followed Arthur's trail for almost half an hour before it veered off the road toward the river. He came across Val first. Unhitched, she was stamping her feet nervously in the snow, her hot breath steaming in the cold. Hosea hitched her to a nearby tree and gave her a peppermint, which seemed to calm her down, then he headed toward the river following Arthur's boot tracks. Hosea found him, still sitting slumped forward on the log, small drifts of snow forming on his hat and shoulders.

  "Arthur?"

  Arthur sat up at the sound of Hosea's voice, but didn't speak or look at him. Hosea brushed the fresh snow off the log and sat down.

  "I know you're scared, son -" Hosea was cut off.

  "Scared?" Arthur repeated, finally turning to look at the older man "That ain't the half of it."

  "I s'pose everyone is scared when they become a father," he continued. " Scared they'll mess up, scared they won't be able to protect their kids." Arthur slumped down and stared at the ground once more. "I already know I can't." he said, his voice small and defeated "Why should I deserve another chance?"

  "Our life is very different now, Arthur. _You're_ different." Hosea said putting his arm around Arthur's shoulders. "You were so young then, and we were always fighting and running. We don't live that life anymore, and you sure ain't so young these days."

  Arthur gave a weak chuckle "You should talk," he said with a ghost of a smile, "but -"

  "But nothing." Hosea cut him off "This child's life won't be like that. For one thing he'll have his Daddy around - assuming he doesn't freeze to death out here in the snow - he'll have his Mama and a nice, safe home to grow up in. Not to mention," Hosea did some quick counting in his head "eight uncles, six aunties, and two very over protective grandfathers." Hosea stood up. "One of which, by the way, is currently at _your_ house comforting _your_ crying wife."

  That seemed to snap Arthur out of his depression. His head jerked up and he looked at Hosea as if he was just noticed he was there.

  "Oh, Jesus. Tess... Shit, she must... She must hate me... God, I've been an ass." He jumped up and ran to where Val was hitched. Mounting up, he looked back briefly, "Thank you, Hosea."

  With that he sped off, leaving Hosea to once more follow in his tracks.

_____________

  It was dark by the time Arthur arrived back home. As he hitched Val he could see Tess sitting at the kitchen table with Dutch through the window. She was staring into a mug of tea clasped in her hands. Her eyes were red and puffy, and though she didn't appear to be crying, Arthur could tell she had been. He climbed the steps and stopped outside the door, trying to figure out what he might possibly say to make this right.

  Arthur didn't have long to think. It was only a moment before Dutch, who had heard him on the stairs, opened the door and stepped out looking angry. He had planned on giving the boy a piece of his mind, but upon seeing the fear and remorse on Arthur's face he softened.

  "It'll be okay, son." He said instead, patting Arthur on the shoulder. "Just go talk to her."

  Dutch headed down the steps to where The Count was hitched, Val now next to him. Arthur watched him for a moment, then swallowed hard and opened the door.

 

  Tess turned toward Arthur as he walked in, but she din't raise her eyes from the mug of tea still clasped in her hands. For a moment neither of them said anything, then Tess broke the silence.

  "I'm sorry- " she began, but Arthur cut her off.

  "No." He quickly crossed the room. Kneeling in front of Tess he took the mug and placed it on the table, clasping her hands in his. "No, darlin', you ain't got nothin' to be sorry for. Nothin'."

  He continued as she finally looked up at him, tears in her eyes. "I'm the only one who's got anything to be sorry for. I don't know what I was thinkin', runnin' away from you like that. _Wasn't_ thinkin', I guess."

  Arthur heaved a heavy sigh. "I'm so sorry. I was just... afraid, I suppose... Still am I guess... But I swear, I'll never leave you alone again. I'll be here for you and for our baby as long as I draw breath, I promise. If you can you ever forgive me?" He hung his head. "I'll understand if you can't."

  Tess bent and kissed the top of Arthur's head. "Oh, sweetheart, of course I forgive you." She said stroking his hair "I know how frightening this must be for you. I'm scared too, but after everything you've gone through..."

  Arthur looked up, staring past Tess and out the window. "That was so long ago. I should be over all that by now." he said gruffly.

  "You lost a _child_ Arthur, that's not something you get over. Isaac's death will always be with you." Tess reached up and turned Arthur's face to hers. "But, we can't let our fear of the past stop us from making a future."

  Arthur stood and pulled Tess up. "I know. You're right." he said hugging her.

  She smiled into his neck. "As usual."

  Arthur chuckled and pulled back just enough for them to look at each other. "So, what should we call him?" he asked, with a grin. Tess could see that glimmer of excitement starting to show again.

  "What makes you so sure it's a 'him', Mr Morgan?"

  With that thought, the color drained from Arthur's face once more.

  Tess laughed softly, kissing his cheek. "You silly man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem Out of the Ocean Depths Soundlessly Moving


	12. What Destiny is This, What Strange Design

  When Arthur had told her that he would never leave her alone again, Tess hadn't realized that he'd meant it quite so literally.

  At first it was sweet. Arthur doted on her and wouldn't let her do anything too strenuous, but it wasn't that different from usual. Once her belly began to grow big, however, that changed.

  Arthur wouldn't let her do _anything_. He had moved Tilly into the baby's room temporarily, making sure she did all the chores and was there in case Tess needed anything while Arthur was working deep on the ranch. Tess wasn't allowed to do laundry or dishes or care for her own sheep. Arthur wouldn't even let her walk over to the cookhouse for lunch, instead bringing lunch to her at home.

  It was making Tess crazy.

  Sitting with Arthur on the porch swing, having just come back from the doctor, Tess was debating whether it was worth getting up to put on the tea pot. She hoped the doctor's assurances that she was in fine health would get Arthur to ease up a bit. But she knew that as soon as he saw the first sign of her struggling to get her seven-month-swollen belly out of her seat he would insist on doing it for her. She also knew if he didn't let her do something for herself soon she was going to kill him.

  She was weighing the idea of life as a widow (she _really_ wanted some tea) when she noticed the stagecoach heading toward the ranch.

_________________

 

  Albert hadn't come bearing photos of seaports (though of course he had those as well,) he'd come bearing news - and it wasn't good news.

  He'd been eating lunch in a Seattle saloon when a group of men had taken the table next to him, and he overheard the name _Van der Linde_. Six bounty hunters would be heading out of Seattle in two days time, and they were headed this way.

  "They don't know exactly where you are, Arthur, but they seem to know you're out here somewhere."

  "Yeah, well, there ain't a whole lot out here. It ain't gonna take 'em too long to find us."

  "Oh, Arthur," Tess whispered, visibly shaken, "what are we gonna do?"

  To her and Arthur's suprise, it was Albert that answered.

  "I think I may actually have an idea, but I'll need to speak with Mrs. Adler."

 

 

 Albert's plan was absolutely crazy. So of course, Dutch loved it. However, the others took a little more convincing.

  "Just go over it one more time, please, Mr Mason. From the beginning." Hosea requested, rubbing his temples.

  They were gathered in the dining room of the big house. Arthur, Tess, John, Abigail, Sadie, Hosea, and Susan sat at the table. Dutch, having been sold on the idea from the beginning, prowled around the room with a cigar in his teeth and a glint in his eye. Albert stood at the head of the table and started again.

  "Well, while I was in the saloon overhearing these bounty hunter's plans, I noticed one of them looked a bit like you, Arthur. Same coloring, pretty close in height..."

  He had been sitting at his table, trying to evesdrop as much as possible without arousing suspicion, when he'd noticed the man who resembled Arthur.

  _Hmm, he'd thought, too bad we can't just pretend he **is** Arthur and turn him in instead._

  It really didn't come to him 'til a few hours later. Once the bounty hunters had stopped talking business and settled into drinking the day away, Albert had quickly gone to his room to gather his things. Within an hour he was in a stagecoach on the way to warn Arthur and the others. He was just beginning to doze off when it hit him and he sat bolt upright, suddenly wide awake.

  _Why **couldn't** they turn in Arthur's look alike instead?_ 

  "And that is when I realized that if these men come here they likely won't survive the encounter. So... why not use that to our, I mean _your_ , advantage? Unfortunately, I'm not exactly an expert in how bounties work..."

  "Which is where I come in." Sadie interrupted. "The process basically goes like this - the body is brought to the Sheriff and if the bounty is small its paid right then and he sends word out that it's done. But, if its a big one the Sheriff takes pictures of the bodies, collects any personal effects, writes a report, then we bury the bodies out behind the Sheriff's office. Then, he takes all the evidence and goes to see the Judge in Spokane. As long as the Judge is satisfied he entrusts the bounty money to the Sheriff, who then awards it to the bounty hunter."

  Albert broke back in, "Once I found out that the bodies would be buried here and not transported to Spokane with the rest of the evidence it came to me that we could save, not just Arthur, but all of you."

  "And this is where I get confused," John grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose, "This guy looks like Arthur, ok, so we shoot him in the face and put some of Arthur's things in his pocket. Might even be able to pass one of them off as Dutch. But, us?" He gestured to himself and Hosea. "No offence, Hosea, but there aren't a lot of bounty hunters your age running around, and with my scars..."

  "No worries, my boy," Albert said, passing over a stack of photographs which John rifled through with a disturbed look on his face, "I can take care of that. The bigger problem I see is how to we get the Sheriff to agree to the plan?"

  "It may not be as hard as you'd think." Sadie mused.

  "Whaddya, mean?" Arthur asked her.

  "Well... Sheriff Davis and me have gotten... _close_...in the last few months," she continued without meeting the curious looks of the others, "he meant it when he said he had sins in his past. Now, I'm not at liberty to say what they are, but he ain't always been the good man he is today. But he'd do damn near anything for this town, and he ain't no stranger to starting over."

  Hosea was skeptical, "You really think he'd perjure himself? Risk losing his career and everything he has here? For _us_?"

  Sadie shrugged, "For you? No. For the town, and... me? Yeah, maybe. I'll talk to him."

__________________

 

  As it turned out, getting the Sheriff on board wasn't the problem. No one knew exactly what Sadie had said to him, but the next evening Sheriff Davis had ridden out to the ranch. Since Arthur didn't want Tess walking up to the main house again in her "delicate condition" (Tess rolled her eyes at this, but held her tongue), the Sheriff had met Dutch, Hosea, Albert, and John at Arthur and Tess' house to discuss the specifics. That was when they encountered the problem; not the Sheriff, but Hosea.

  Hosea's issue had nothing to do with the plan itself. He had no qualms about killing the bounty hunters, nor attempting to pass off two of them as Dutch and Arthur. He wasn't concerned about letting Albert use make-up and camera tricks to make himself and John look dead. But, then came the matter of their personal effects.

  "Mr. Matthews..."

  "I'm sorry, Sheriff, but no."

  "Hosea..."

  "I said no, Dutch. I won't give it up."

  Dutch leaned back in his chair and sighed. He couldn't blame his friend, not really.

  The Sheriff had explained that there were certain things that should be amognst their personal effects if this was to work. There were the basics; a bit of pocket money, guns and gun belts (they could take those off the dead bounty hunters,) maybe a cigarette card or two. Just the random detritus found in a man's pockets. They would, however, also need some more personal items to help with identification. Arthur would include his photograph of his father (it was his mugshot, so should be easily identifiable) and maybe an old letter or two. Dutch would be giving up his rings and his father's watch, since he was well known for both. John would try to find something, but his scars were really all the identification he'd need.

  Then there was Hosea. The Sheriff had told them that it was a well known fact that he'd been a married man and that still wore the ring. While he very much sympathized with Hosea's desire to keep it, they would need to turn it in. Besides, the engraving inside the band was the best identifier for him they had.

  Unfortunately, Hosea flat-out refused to give the it up.

  "C'mon," Dutch said, standing as he looked back at Hosea, "let's step outside a minute, get some air. The rest of you excuse us a moment, would you?"

  Hosea got up reluctantly and followed Dutch out onto the porch, where they both leaned against the railing, neither speaking for a moment.

  "We've all had to give something up Hosea. You know how much my daddy's watch means to me."

  "It's all I have left of her, Dutch." Hosea responded quietly, staring out over the ranch without seeing it, "I don't even have her picture anymore, lost it somehow on the way out here."

  Dutch inhaled sharply in surprise before sighing again. "I'm very sorry to hear that, old friend, but -"

  "But nothing, Dutch." Hosea snapped as he moved off the railing to angrily face the other man, "You think I'd give up the last piece I have of her just to save my skin? I'd rather swing."

  "No, Hosea, I don't. Of _course_ I don't. But this ain't about _your_ skin."

  Dutch gripped Hosea's shoulders and turned him around so that he was looking through the kitchen window to where John and Arthur were sitting at the table. The brothers were going through a large pile of papers from Arthur's satchel and talking. They watched as John said something they couldn't hear and pointed at the pile, giving Arthur a sideways look and a sly grin. Arthur grimmaced then shoved John almost out of his chair before they both broke out laughing.

  "I'm not asking you to do it for you Hosea, and _certainly_ not for me. But, Arthur? John? Those were her boys. Her _sons_. There is nothing Bessie wouldn't have done to keep them safe. And now that John has babies of his own? And Arthur with one on the way? Just how protective do think she'd be of _grandchildren_?"

  Hosea's heart warmed in his chest as he watched Arthur begin to tell some story that had the others laughing as John buried his face in his hands and turned a deep shade of red.

  Dutch was right. Of course he was. Bessie wouldn't have thought twice about giving up the ring if she was in his place. She would do absolutely anything keep her boys safe. And she would be waiting to tan his hide before God and His angels if Hosea didn't do the same. Hell didn't frighten him half as much.

  With a small, sad smile on his face Hosea twisted the ring off his finger. He opened the door and stepped back into the kitchen and the warm glow of his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem I'm a Stranger Here


	13. With His Ghastly Stare, and Blood-Soaked Hair

  The bounty hunters showed up a month, almost to the day, after Albert's warning. As was customary, they stopped by the Sheriff's office when they reached town. They introduced themselves, and as Sheriff Davis lamented the idea of outlaws hiding near his town and the "local kids" that kept pulling down his wanted posters, none of them paid any mind to the gruff, trouser-wearing woman who pecked the Sheriff's cheek and took her leave. Sadie headed top speed for the ranch, slowing just long enough tie a long red scarf to Bob's halter.

  Everything at the ranch was as prepared as they could hope for it to be. Tess, Abigail, and the children had been moved into the main house as soon as the plan had been worked out. Their own houses sat too close to the ranch gates for Arthur and John's comfort. This way, once the shooting started, they would be ushered into the cellar with Mary-Beth, Tilly, Susan, and Albert. Susan had wanted to stay and fight, but Tess was eight months along and Arthur had all but pleaded with Susan to stay with her in case of any problems. She would of course have her shotgun in case trouble found its way to the cellar, but that wasn't very likely. Karen, on the other hand, was not to be dissuaded - she would stay and fight. The rest of the preparations primarily amounted to stocking up on ammo and piling sandbags and crates in various locations to help provide cover. Then, it was just a matter of waiting.

  It was Charles' turn to keep watch. Seated high on the platform of the ranch's water tower, binoculars at his side, he scanned every puff of dust on the horizon, hoping that instead of the men who would be gunning for them he would see see Sadie's signal. It came just after noon.

  When he saw Sadie's red scarf flowing out behind the approaching horse Charles quickly fired three shots into the air, the sign for everyone to get into position. He then laid down prone on the water tower's platform with a long scope rifle, hoping to pick off at least one or two before they reached the ranch.

  The women and children (and Albert) were quickly ushered into the basement by Miss Grimshaw while Lenny got into position outside the cellar doors at the back of the main house. He wasn't thrilled about this; he wanted to be out front fighting with the others, but the look on Arthur's face when he'd asked had stopped any protest before it started. The man was clearly terrified for Tess and the baby, and if Lenny could help put his mind to rest then that's what he'd do.

  Arthur, who wanted nothing more than to guard the cellar himself, took up position with John just off the porch of Arthur's own house. The brothers were the two best shots on the ranch. With stakes this high, neither could be spared from the fight.

  Dutch and Hosea would take cover off the side of the chowhall, almost directly across from Arthur and John. Anyone who tried to make it through the gate would have to contend with the deadly crossfire of the two pairs on either side. Each man was so familiar with fighting beside his partner that they could seemingly read each other's thoughts, anticipate their actions. Two well-oiled machines that only the best would ever stand a chance against.

  Charles and Karen would take the high ground; Charles on the water tower and Karen in the window of her own room above the chowhall. Bill was posted on the porch of the main house where Sadie would join him upon arrival. Much to Sean's displeasure, he (along with Keiren, Pearson, and Uncle) would not join the fight. Though armed (the fight could always make its way to them) they would be out in the stables, trying to keep the horses safe and calm. There was still a ranch to run after all.

_____________________

 

  Sadie arrived at top speed, quickly hitching a heaving Bob between John and Arthur's houses with Valkyrie and Old Boy. The horses would be sheltered there, but also easy to reach if they needed to give chase. She took her place with Bill, and hunkered down to wait like the others.

  Looking back, no one could agree on how long they waited there. To some it felt like hours; to others, just minutes before Charles looked through the scope of his rifle and yelled down.

  "Here they come!" he called out, readying himself to take his shot.

  It rang true and the man toppled off his horse to lay still in the dirt.

  They'd expected the battle to be short and bloody. Six bounty hunters would be no real match for the infamous Van der Linde Gang, and for a time that's what they were once more - a gang. But the gang was not exactly known for its wealth of luck, and lately they'd used up their fair share. They were right to think it would be bloody, but wrong to think it would be short.

  When Charles took down the first man the rest scattered. One of them, a young man wielding a bow instead of a gun, managed to put a fire arrow into the leg of the water tower Charles was shooting from before Karen picked him off from her window. There had been no real rain in over a month and the fire caught and spread quickly, causing Charles to scramble down in a rush and burn his shoulder on the way. Thankfully, when the tower fell, it fell toward the gate. The fence was ruined, and that was their water gone in the middle of June, but no people or buildings were crushed.

  The smoldering remains of the tower did, however, provide two of the bounty hunters with decent cover, muddy though it may have been. The last used the diversion of the falling tower to continue to the gate but was taken down quickly, and near simultaneously, by John and Arthur. The two brothers then cut behind the chowhall to take cover near Dutch, Hosea, and now Charles, who had sheltered behind the remains of one of the water tower's legs. As they turned their attention to the two remaining bounty hunters they were joined by Sadie. Bill stayed on the porch to guard the main house.

  "Where's the other one?" Sadie panted, breathing heavily from adrenaline and her dash to their location.

  "What other one?" Charles called over his shoulder to her, "Me and Karen each took one, Arthur and John got one, and now these two. That's all five."

  "Yeah, but there was six of 'em came into the Sheriff's office this morning."

  That's when they heard the shots coming from the rear of the property.

  With barely a glance from his older brother, John started laying down heavy cover fire as Arthur and Sadie sprinted around to the back of the house.

 

 

  Sean was the first to see the man approaching from the rear. It seemed he had appeared out of nowhere, riding past the stables so swiftly all Sean could do was fire a few shots at his retreating back before he was gone. Cursing and knowing he would be unable to catch the man before he reached the big house, Sean mounted Ennis and gave chase.

  Lenny was covered and hidden well when he heard Sean open fire. Peeking out he saw a horse approaching fast. He remained where he was, quiet and still, until the man slowed not fifteen feet in front of Lenny's hiding spot.

  Sudden movement from the side of the house caught the bounty hunter's eye, and Arthur and Sadie came around the corner just in time to see Lenny unload his shotgun.

  The bounty hunter's eyes widened in shock. For the briefest moment he looked down with surprise at the hole where his chest used to be before slowly sliding from his horse to stain the ground red with his blood.

  " _Jesus_!" Sean exclaimed, his horse skidding to a stop just as the man hit the ground. "Looks like you didn't need me after all... That all of 'em?"

  His answer was another round of gunfire from around front.

  "No," Arthur growled, "there's still the two bastards behind the what's left of the water tower."

  "Water tower? Is that the almighty crash I heard then?" Sean asked, jumping down from his horse.

  "Yeah, they took it down. Now be quiet and come on." Arthur sighed, already making his way back to the fight, Sadie close behind him.

  Being quiet never came naturally to Sean, and as they rounded the corner of the house he couldn't help but let out a long low whistle at the sight of the fallen tower. As he turned to Arthur, a comment on his lips, the lower half of his right leg exploded in a spray of blood.

 

 

  John was losing his patience. Why in the _hell_ were they having so much trouble taking out _two men_? Granted, the remains of the water tower were providing their quarry with particularly good cover. One of the men, shooting through a gap in the broken wood, didn't need to expose himself to take shots at them, making it impossible predict for whom those shots were meant. The slugs in his shotgun didn't have a ton of range, but he didn't need much and the damage was devastating. Frustrated, John was considering the idea of just tossing dynamite at them, even though he knew they were hoping to avoid too much damage to the bodies. Before he could decide, John heard a whistle from behind him. And then the shotgun fired again.

  Suddenly all he could hear was Sean screaming.

  As he turned, momentarily distracted by his friend's screams, John felt the bullet slam into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

 

 

  Arthur was about to tell Sean to be _quiet_ dammit, when the Irishman's leg was all but blown off.

  "Shit! Sean! Sadie, help me!" Arthur grabbed Sean under one shoulder while Sadie took the other. Wincing at the horrible sounds the pain was wrenching from him, and trying to comfort him as best they could, they drug Sean back around to the rear of the house.

  "Lenny! Get Miss Grimshaw! Quick!"

  As the cellar door cautiously opened to Lenny's pounding and Susan peeked out, shotgun at the ready, Arthur and Sadie deposited Sean in their care and made their own way back to the fight.

  As they rounded the house once more (albeit more stealthily than Sean had managed) the first thing Arthur saw was his brother on the ground, his previously white shirt now mostly red.

  John was hurt, but he was alive. Arthur could hear him groan as Hosea grabbed his boots and drug him back under cover.

  Arthur and Sadie took cover along the side of the house. The only way back to the fight was through open areas - easy pickings for the hidden man with the shotgun. They were pinned down.

________________

 

  Ambrose Davis had been many things in his life; husband, father, farm hand, criminal, and now lawman. One thing he had never been, however, was patient.

  Back and forth.

  The Sheriff paced across his office. Not long after Sadie had left to warn her folks at the ranch he had watched the bounty hunters ride off in that same direction. It had only taken talking to a few of the folk milling about town for the bounty hunters to learn of the new ranch with the hard men who had scared off the Buhrman boys.

  Back and forth.

  This is what they had been planning for; things were going exactly as expected. Sadie had left with plenty of time, everything would be ready when the bounty hunters arrived at the ranch, and it would be fine. _She_ would be fine.

  Back and forth.

  She would be fine. She _would_. They were ready; it wouldn't be like last time.

  His pacing led him to the shelf holding the picture of his beloved Martha. He gazed at it sadly. He had already lost so much and now, after so long, he had built something new; with this town. With _Sadie_. He wasn't going to lose it now. Not again.

  "Fuck it."

  Slinging his rifle across his back, he reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a long red strip of cloth Sadie had given him. Locking up the office behind him, he tied the cloth to Jackson's halter, mounted up, and headed for the ranch.

______________

 

Crouched against the side of the house, Arthur surveyed the scene. Hosea had pulled John into cover and was looking over the wound to his shoulder. Arthur was relieved to see that John was sitting up now. He was hurt, but it looked like he'd be alright. Dutch crouched next to them, gun drawn, but with no one he could see to shoot. To their right, Charles was still sheltered behind the water tower's broken leg. Like Dutch, neither of the bounty hunters were in his line of sight, though Arthur wasn't sure how much that mattered. Charles's shoulder was obviously paining him now, as he was unable to keep his gun raised for any significant amount of time. Arthur wasn't able to see Karen in her window, but he knew if she had a shot she'd have taken it by now. Bill, he assumed, remained in his post on the porch; a last line of defence against anyone who tried to take the house.

  All in all it didn't look great. Arthur was trying to decide how long it would take the two of them to go around the back of the house to the other side, and whether it would even do any good, when he heard Sadie sigh in relief next to him.

  "Look" she said, pointing out the gate.

  Arthur turned to look just in time to see the Sheriff stop his horse near where the bounty hunters were sheltered. He paused there a moment, then suddenly there were two quick gunshots before he calmly turned Jackson into the gate and toward the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title from the poem My Three Friends


	14. And moving On, Might Dream Great Dreams Themselves

  John didn't like this. Not one bit.

  He lay in the dirt near the gate, his wounded shoulder now bandaged under the bloody shirt he still wore. To his left was the man they would call "Arthur"; "Dutch" lay on his right, both men's faces mutilated by the gunfire masking their true identities.

  John had seen his share of dead bodies, had handled them even, but lying here between them made him deeply uncomfortable.

  Albert had positioned John with his head turned slightly, wanting his scars clearly visible in the photograph, the result being that John was staring straight into the hole in "Arthur's" cheek. He could see the busted shards of teeth, bits of jawbone, the ripped muscle and flesh, what remained of the man's tongue...

  "Anyway we could hurry this up?" He grumbled as Albert bustled around, checking and rechecking that everything was ready for the most important photograph he would ever take.

  "Aw, shuddup, John, ya big baby." Arthur snorted from off to the side where he and Dutch were watching.

  "Whatever, Arthur. I don't see _you_ down here with this mess," John shot back, before adding quietly, "Keep feeling like this guy is gonna wake up and try to take a bite out of me..."

  "Well _I'm_ down here," Hosea snapped from where he lay on the other side of "Dutch", putting a stop to the bickering before it started, "and now I'm telling you to shut up. If my old bones can lay here in the dirt, so can yours."

  "Probably should be at the doctor's office with the others... Got shot an' all..." John pouted under his breath before finally falling quiet.

__________________

  When the shooting had ended Arthur gave a quick nod of thanks to the Sheriff, and after checking to make sure John was going to be alright, headed around to the cellar. He was met halfway by a distraught Lenny.

  "Arthur, thank god! Quick, help me get a wagon ready."

  "Wagon?" Arthur gripped Lenny's shoulder trying to squash his quickly mounting panic, "Is Tess -"

  "Tess is fine, Arthur, she's fine. It's Sean. Grimshaw has managed to slow down the bleeding, but... Well, she says she's done all she can. Its bad, Arthur, real bad."

 

  Sean had always loved to go on and on about the "Luck o' the Irish" (to the point that it drove the others almost as crazy as the endless stories about his "Da") but this time Sean _had_ been lucky. He had been slightly out of range of the shotgun, and the slug that had been intended for his heart had instead blasted through his shin. His famed Irish luck only held so far, though. It may have saved his life, but in the end it still cost him his leg.

  Charles had gone along to the doctor's office with Sean, Lenny and Susan. Thankfully, his burn wouldn't do him any long term harm and, though it pained him some to do so, he was still strong enough to help Lenny hold Sean down during the worst of it. It would be weeks afterwards before Charles was able fall asleep without the sounds of Sean's screams and the saw crunching through bone playing over and over in his mind. Once he heard this, and saw how Lenny hardly slept at all (instead choosing to practically glue himself to Sean's side during his convalescence,) John decided maybe getting patched up by Hosea one last time wasn't so bad after all.

  But Sean was healing, physically at least. Mentally? That was another matter.

 

  It had been just over two weeks since the Sheriff had headed to see the Judge in Spokane. Travel would only take a couple of days each way, but he had warned them before leaving that the trip could take significantly longer. There was just no way of knowing how backed up the court might be. If need be Sheriff Davis would be put up in one of the small rooms above the police station to wait his turn.

  In those two weeks Sean (who spent the first few days mostly unconscious) had healed well enough to now be completely aware of his predicament. He had lost his leg just below the knee. He was given a crutch and could hobble short distances around the main house where he was staying temporarily, but it was difficult and still quite painful. He mostly stayed cooped up in the room Grimshaw had fixed up for him in the main house, drinking heavily while quiet in a way that was unnerving to those who knew him. Come spring they would make the trip to a doctor in Seattle to get him fitted for a false leg. He wouldn't be healed enough to wear one before the mountain passes became too treacherous to cross, but that was months away. Even so, the idea of wearing one seemed to bring Sean little comfort. He was convinced that he was now utterly useless and destined to end up as nothing more than a charity case. Everyone had been doing what they could to cheer him up, or at least distract him, with little success.

  Today it was Arthur's turn.

  "Aw, c'mon," Arthur slurred slightly, waggling the now mostly empy whiskey bottle he'd brought to share, "whatchu so sour for anyway? Yer lucky to be alive, kid. I don't think that man was _aiming_ for your leg..."

  "Yeah? Well, he damn sure managed to hit it, didn't he?"

  "Now, now, I know - "

  "You know what, Morgan? I don't see you hobblin' around like an invalid. Looks to me like all _your_ parts are still attached. So don't ya try ta tell me ya 'know how I feel', alright?"

  " I was _goin_ ' ta say I've known men with missin' legs before and -"

  "Oh? What, that old vet down in Rhodes? 'Cause that's really how I wanna -"

  "I'm not talkin' about him, dammit! Now will you shut up for two damn seconds?" Arthur took a much needed swig from the bottle, "I'm _talkin'_ about my friend Hamish. Lost part of his leg to a cannonball in the war. About the same as you, really, just on the other side..."

  Sean was finally quiet, listening to what Arthur had to say.

  "Anyway, he gets on just fine with the false one. He still hunts, still fishes, still rides, manages all on his own out by O'Craighs Run. Horse has a tendancy to buck him and run off with the leg..."

  Sean blanched at the sound of that and Arthur continued quickly, "But, that's just 'cause Buell is a mean bastard. Ennis would never throw you just for fun."

  Before Sean could reply there was a shout from the front of the house.

  "Arthur!" Dutch called to him, "Arthur, get out here, the Sheriff's back!"

_________________

 

  Ambrose was actually surprised at just how smoothly things went with the Judge. He'd had to spend almost a week in the little room above the police station before he could be seen, but that may have been to their advantage. There was no reason to doubt the scheme would work. Ambrose Davis was a respected lawman. The photographs of the four "dead" men were still baffling to him in their realism. There were the personal effects. Still, when the hurried Judge barely looked over the evidence before declaring the men officially dead and ordering the bounty to be paid, he found himself letting out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

  The next morning he was escorted to the bank by two armed guards and a bailiff with a court order for the bounty money to be entrusted to him. He was then joined by the same guards (along with two more) in a stagecoach and sent on his way, unbeknownst to them, a much richer man.

__________________

 

  The negotiation for how to split the bounty money had become rather tense, but not for the reason anyone would have expected.

  The total reward for all four men was thirty thousand dollars; ten thousand apiece for Dutch and Hosea, five each for Arthur and John. Most everyone had assumed it would be an easy split. Hosea had proposed ten thousand each to Sheriff Davis and Albert; the whole plan was, after all, Albert's idea and without him and the Sheriff they never could have pulled it off. The other ten thousand would stay on the ranch to be divvied up or invested as they saw fit.

  The unexpected snag was Albert - he didn't want the money.

  "Wait, what?" Arthur had asked incredulously when Albert told them. "Whatcha mean you don't want it? This was _your_ plan, you took the pictures, did the make-up... If you hadn't shown up we wouldn't have even known they was comin'. Hell, without you and the Sheriff none of this will - _can_ \- work. Of _course_ you get a share of the money."

  "I never did this for the money. I did it to help a friend who's saved my skin more times than I can count, and never once asked for anything in return."

  "But -"

  "If it was money I was after, Arthur, I could have turned you in ages ago."

  "Still -"

  "Arthur, have you never wondered how it is I am able to spend months travelling the country taking photographs? How I was able to abandon my job at the theater to come here, and then traipse off to Seattle? I don't _need_ the money, Arthur."

  Arthur was shocked into momentary silence. It was true, Albert seemed to travel when and where he pleased without much thought. He was clearly more of a man of means than Arthur had assumed. He had always been such an unimposing, down-to-earth kind of man that Arthur had never given it a second thought. But, no one was rich enough they couldn't use _ten thousand dollars_... were they?

  "Now, c'mon Al, you can't be _that_ -"

  Albert cut him off. Pushing his chair back from the kitchen table where he and Arthur were arguing, he called over to Tess and Tilly who were peeling vegetables at the sink.

  "Tell me, do you ladies ever make preserves? Or can vegetables and such?"

  "Oh, sure we do," Tilly replied, "we wouldn't make it through the winter otherwise. Why?"

  " Could you possibly tell me what kind of jars you use for it?"

  Tess' eyes widened as she gasped in shock. ".. _.Mason_ jars..."

  "Exactly, as does almost every housewife in the country. I meant it when I said I didn't need the money, Arthur."

  It took a few seconds for Arthur to recover from the revelation that one of his best friends was filthy stinking rich, (and to be thankful that Dutch hadn't known that information before they'd gotten out of the life) but it didn't change the situation at hand.

  "Dammit Al, I don't care 'bout all that," Arthur started after a moment, raising his had to cut off any protest before it began. "If this all works you'll've _saved_ us. My kid's gonna be able to grow up safe, stable, and _honest_. That's worth more ta me than you could even imagine."

  Albert said nothing, just stared back at Arthur with a look of determination on his face. Arthur sighed and rubbed at his eyes, "At least take enough to cover all the travellin' you been doin'. Please. It just don't feel right lettin' you walk away empty handed."

  "Well... I'll think about it, Arthur."

 

  And that is how it came to be that, after watching the Sheriff stop and talk a while with Albert on Arthur's front porch, no one on the ranch knew just how much money the were about to come into possession of - assuming there was any at all.

______________

 

  Arthur, Dutch, and Hosea were waiting on the porch when the Sheriff made his way to the house. The smile on his face told them all they needed to know about the his success with the Judge. Now all that was left was the money.

  "Sheriff!" Dutch exclaimed, eyeing the large envelope Ambrose carried as he climbed the porch steps, "I assume things went well?"

  "Indeed they did. You are officially dead, and we are all much richer men... except for your fool friend," he sighed nodding over to Albert who was sitting on Arthur's porch swing with Tess. "I gave him as much as he would take, and I've got my share, now I got to be gettin' back to town. Got me a pretty lady I ain't seen in a while. Thought I'd go spend some of this money on her, see if I can keep her from killin' me for bein' gone so long. So," he held up the envelope, "I believe _this_ belongs to you folks."

  Dutch started to reach for the money. His eyes narrowed slightly as the sheriff stepped around him, making a point of instead handing it to Hosea with a small wink. He then turned and started making his way back where the coachman had hitched Jackson.

  "What was that about?" Dutch wondered, looking from an equally bewildered Arthur to Hosea who was standing frozen on the spot staring into the envelope he'd just opened.

  "Hosea? Hosea is something wrong? How much is it?"

  Hosea didn't answer - _couldn't_ answer. He never even saw the money as he reached into the envelope with trembling fingers and pulled out his wedding band.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from the (long-ass!) poem Biography in Stone


	15. Epilogue: If There Is Beauty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the end, thank you everyone who's stuck with me! I hope you've enjoyed my silly little story and I've added some head cannons at the end with some little details I wasn't sure how to fit in the main story.

  Arthur had never been so scared in his life.

  He'd challenged death more times than he could count, and many of those times he'd come too damn close to losing. He'd stared down the barrel of more guns than most people had ever seen. He'd fought off bears, cougars, wolves... He'd taken on men, nature, even gravity itself, and he'd never been frightened - not like this.

  This made the rest feel almost laughable.

  Arthur hadn't been there when Isaac was born; neither had he been around either of the times Abigail had given birth. He'd had no idea there would be this much _screaming_.

  As Tess gave another wail, Arthur shot from his seat and began once again pacing around the kitchen. She was in their bedroom with the doctor along with Susan and Hosea who had birthed Jack and could be helpful. Arthur was not allowed in.

  So, he paced.

  John waited with him, as _he'd_ been through this before, and was trying to keep up a constant stream of assurances to ease his brother's mind. It would seem to help for a moment, Arthur maybe even sitting down, but then there would be another scream from the bedroom and his worried pacing would begin again.

  As the room went quiet once more, John decided to try distraction instead.

  "So," he asked, trying to keep his tone light - as if it didn't sound like someone was being murdered in the other room - "you two got names picked out?"

  "Hmm..." Arthur hummed as if barely registering he was being spoken to. John tried again.

  "You know...names? Can't just call 'em 'kid' forever, Arthur."

  "Right, names." Arthur sat down heavily next to John, eyes still trained on the door down the hall. " So, yeah. If its a boy we're gonna call him Albert, on account of what he did for us, and his middle name'll be Matthew, for Hosea."

  John nodded approvingly, "Albert Matthew, I like that. And if it's a girl?"

  "If it's a girl she'll be -"

  Arthur was cut off by another cry from the bedroom, but this time it wasn't Tess. He lept to his feet as the door to the bedroom swung open and Hosea stepped out.

  "Congratulations, son, it's -" was as much as Hosea was able to get out before Arthur had sprinted down the hall and pushed past him into the room.

  He stopped short as he looked at Tess. She was red faced, sweaty and disheveled, and smiling down at the bundle in her arms. As she looked up at him, Arthur thought he'd never seen anything more beautiful. He knelt down beside the bed, kissing Tess before gently running his finger over the head of the baby she held, his hand suddenly feeling too big and too rough for such a a delicate creature.

  "Hello, little - " he stopped, looking at Tess questioningly, realizing he'd bowled Hosea over before learning if he had a son or a daughter.

  Tess shifted and handed the squirming bundle to a very nervous Arthur. "Bessie," she said, smiling up at them.

  Arthur beamed down at his daughter, fighting back the tears that suddenly threatened to overwhelm him.

  "Hello Bessie," he cooed to the bundle in his arms as he gestured around the room, "So, this is home, and that pretty lady over there? That's yer Mama, but I 'spose you already met her. Now, I hate to be the one to break it to ya, darlin', but I'm afraid I'm Daddy."

  Tess laid back in the bed, watching the two people she loved most in the world.

  "Oh, you silly man."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got a couple ideas for one shots set in this AU, if anyone's interested let me know! <3

**Author's Note:**

> If There Is Beauty - Louis L'Amour
> 
> If there is any beauty after this  
> Or any quiet joy, or imagery  
> Of happiness that we may share, then we  
> Must never hesitate, nor be remiss;  
> If in the after years the deep abyss  
> Of sorrow draws you close, and mournfully  
> The old dreams die, then you must turn to me  
> And to this love that needs no emphasis.
> 
> If, when tomorrow comes,the things you knew  
> No longer are, but like an empty town  
> Whose windows catch the fading sunset flame,  
> Your eyes reflect your loneliness, and you  
> Watch one by one the swifter years go down -  
> Then turn to me, for I shall be the same.


End file.
